Dreams, Rain, Go Insane
by Brat-Child3
Summary: Kenny has a theory. Not only is love a mental disorder, but also a waste of time. When a certain blonde starts giving him butterflies, he becomes obsessed with Stan and Kyle's relationship, trying to figure out what true love is.
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note: **This re-posting of Dreams, Rain, Go Insane is brought to you by the wonderful CrimsonXbutterfly. Had it not been for her, this story would be lost somewhere in cyberspace, and I would not have had the chance to finish it, which I will do. :)

Once again-- Enjoy my original Kenny/Butters.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own South Park.

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**Chapter 1- Disappear:**

My name is Kenny McKormick, and I'm a sexaholic.

This is the first time I've admitted that out loud. God knows I've been accused of it time and time again, but never really saw it as a problem. Sure, I nailed every girl I possibly could, going the distance to get what I wanted, short of using force. But that was normal for any sixteen year old, wasn't it?

Maybe I do have a problem. And the only reason I say that now is because I've been watching Stan for the passed half hour. By "watching" I mean "wanting". I haven't craved this badly for at least… an hour.

This is going too far. I don't like to look at my friends and want to bang them senseless. It's just not healthy.

I could avert my attention and actually listen to the teacher for once, but just the thought makes me yawn. Stan really is much more interesting. To the naked eye -and lord I wish that meant I could see through his clothes- he appeared to be sitting there like a good little boy. But, I knew better. He wasn't keeping his hands to himself. He was keeping them in Kyle's lap. Nothing hot was going on (God damnit) he was simply caressing Kyle's knee, probably unintentionally, too. The two have been fucking for about a week. I don't give a crap how much either of them deny it. I first noticed this Tuesday morning. The way they looked at each other was all the proof I needed. Everyone always gave their lover that "look" when they screwed for the first time. I can't even tell you if they had been _together_ before anything happened, or if they just decided to hump each other on the spur of the moment, because they never gave any sign of anything more than friendship until last Tuesday.

It wont last. Passion never does. I say just let them fuck each other hard and good, and hope it doesn't screw up their friendship once the lust wears off. Honestly, I don't even think either of them are really gay. I would place money on a bet that they were probably doing some stupid pansy shit like "practicing kissing" and ended up discovering what a boner is and liked it. Like I said, it wont last.

I shake my head and look away. The seat behind me and just to the left is empty. Butters is absent again. I don't think anyone has seen him in about a week. Last time this happened, he came to school with a broken arm and a deep cut near his eye. I drilled into him, questioning over and over what had happened. Eventually he invented a story about how he fell off his street bike.

Street bike.

Butters riding a _street bike. _I may not get the best grades in the school, but I'm not a complete dumb ass. There's no way that kid would have something like that. Not that he wouldn't think it was cool, but actually owning one and having the guts to ride it? It just doesn't add up. I laughed and told him he was full of shit. It was the first time I had ever heard him cuss _at_ someone. He hasn't talked to me since then. It's been the longest three months of my life.

My attention is immediately drawn back to my previous interest when I hear Kyle moan softly. I look up just in time to see him pushing Stan's wandering hand off his lap.

"Stan, you fucking bastard," He whispers. "Don't."

But he's obviously not very convincing. A mischievous smile graces Stan's face as he leans over and whispers in Kyle's ear. I strain to hear what he's saying, but it's way too quiet. I have a few ideas what it might be when Kyle's eyes slip closed with another tortured moan. He reopens them again only after Stan completes his discreet love talk and pulls away.

"May I be excused? I need to talk to my friend, thanks," The teacher never even got the chance to give permission otherwise, and Kyle had already dragged Stan out the door.

This I _had _to see.

I raise my hand, using the same tactic Kyle just had. "I need to use the bathroom." I announce as I fly out the door.

Once out, I look down the school corridor to the left, and then to the right. Damn, they're fast. They're probably fucking already. There's only two places I can think to look; the bathroom most likely, or the janitors closet if they couldn't make it that far. Both to the right. I begin toward it at a running pace and while nearing a corner am ran over by another person going just as fast. I hit the ground with an "oomph!" and open my eyes to see Butters peering down at me, sprawled across my body. _Hello _sexy.

"Gee, I-I'm sorry, Kenny." He apologizes and scrambles to his feet, to my dismay. "A-are you alright?"

I sit up, placing a hand to my forehead. What the hell? My hood fell off! I replace it almost frantically and pull the drawstrings tight. I've worn it so long I feel unsafe without it. And if you laugh at me for that I will kick you in the nuts, or whatever you may have.

"I'm fine. Don't worry about it, dude." I promise in my muffled voice, and stand fully.

He wont look me in the eye.

"W-well, I'd better get to class-" He starts only to be cut off by my tugging on his arm.

"Where've you been?" I ask bluntly.

He looks scared, but he answers. "I-I don't know what you're talkin' about."

"Then let me clear it up for you," I offer, drawing him closer toward me.

"No one's seen you in a week."

"W-we took a trip to-"

"No, you didn't." I correct, shaking my head.

"S-see, I had the chicken pox-"

"In fourth grade." I finish for him.

He looks like he's about to cry, and I almost feel bad. _Almost._ Then he got pissed.

"I'm sick of you s-stickin' your nose in my business all the time!" The intensity of his yell would be shocking if I hadn't expected it. "If you can't back down, a-and stay away from me, then you can just- go to heck!"

_Heck._ Do you see what's so enchanting about him? I grew up in South Parks ghetto. I've seen, heard and been through things no one should ever have to. I'm the dirtiest, lowest form of human in the entire town, and he's completely opposite. He's so pure, so innocent.

I look down at my hand enclosed around his elbow and find I'm unable to stop myself from pulling him just that much closer to me. I can feel his body heat and his angry breath on my face, and look boldly into his eyes. "Maybe you need someone to make it their business."

"Wu- what do ya mean?"

I look down at my hand clutching his arm and slide it down to his wrist. With my free hand, I pull the material of his shirt up. I repeat this inspection on his other arm, and finally turn him around to look at his back. I don't see a single mark this time. I don't know if I'm more relieved or confused. When I turn him to face me again, he looks at me like I'm insane.

"What's been going on with you?" I question.

"I think you'd better- get your head checked, Kenny, cause you aren't making any sense." He pulls out of my grasp and straightens the material of his shirt. "I-it's probably all that junk food you eat. It'll rot your brain, ya know."

I yank him toward me again, feeling somehow that I need to keep him close by so he wont disappear again. I wasn't all too sure why it bothered me so much when he disappeared, anyway. We never were really close friends. We never really were _friends. _Semi-friends is more what it was. His parents are such assholes, and it always has pissed me off the way they treat him. The thought of hurting someone so innocent boils my blood.

"Let me go." It's voiced as more of a request.

I shake my head.

"Well, why the heck not?"

"I'm worried about you."

"You're bein' silly." He accuses me. "I told you ta leave me alone."

"I cant." I step toward him again, only this time he pushes me away.

"You've got to. Otherwise, I'll get grounded again." He explains, his voice remaining calm although now heavy with bitterness. "My parents say you're a bad influence and I can't- can't hang out with no good, stinkin' trailer trash anymore."

I'm taken aback, and I'm sure it's evident in what's visible of my expression. Normally, I would kick him, but I know that it isn't his fault. He already said it was his parents that said it. Still, I can feel the rage building inside me. Just like it isn't his fault what his parents think, it isn't my fault what my parents are. It's not like I chose to be born a piss poor, white trash baby.

"I'm awful sorry, Kenny." He apologizes, one warm, gentle hand giving my shoulder a sympathy touch.

His eyes are sad, and I forgive him because I know he honestly means he's sorry. Sorry that he can't talk to me and sorry that I'm trash. But, what he doesn't realize is that I feel sorry for him, too, because he was a prisoner to his own life, just like me.

I never do voice my apology acceptation aloud before he hurries down the hall and away from me. Away from _me._ That single thought is enough to make me crave an entire box of cigarettes.

I watch him until he's out of sight and then press my forehead against the cold steel of some random person's locker. I don't even consciously control the groan that hisses through my teeth, or the light thumping as my forehead hit's the locker a few times before coming to a rest. I've felt so drained and exasperated with everyone and everything. Had it really come to this? Was he honestly never going to talk to me again? Why did that bother me so much when it didn't seem to affect him at all?

I didn't even realize I had closed my eyes until I open them at the sound of distant footsteps coming down the adjacent corridor. It's only after I hear Stan's voice and Kyle's weak laughter that I remember why I was out here in the first place. I take a chance and peek around the corner, immediately zeroing in on the way they had their arms casually around each others waists and how weak-kneed Kyle appears to be. I also note the satisfied, dreamy expression on his face.

A new smile tugging at my lips, I pounce into the center of the hall and chuckle to myself when the two naughty friends take notice of my presence and spring away from one another, eyes wide and fearful. I can't help but feel a little guilty for snapping Kyle out of his Stan- induced afterglow, but mostly it makes me laugh.

"God damnit, dude. What the hell are you doing?" Kyle demands, pissed now that the initial shock wore off.

Stan magnetizes back to Kyle's side, not at all angered by my intrusion, but looking a little concerned about Kyle's obviously rattled mood. There's a bit of a white substance residing on the corner of his mouth, confirming my suspicions.

"I was just wondering what my two best buddies were up to," I answer the pissed Jew and work my way between them, slinging my arms around each of their shoulders. Stan takes it in stride, but Kyle looks even more irritated at me for physically separating the two of them. "But, I guess the evidence on Stan's chin answers my question. Having a little Kosher snack there, were ya, Stan?"

He looks mortified and hurriedly swipes it away with the wrist of his shirt. He looks "found out", and that's hot.

"So, what if he was?" Kyle snaps defensively.

"Dude!" Stan shrieks.

I use the arm cradling Stan to squeeze him against me in a semi-hug. "Relax, I figured it out already."

My hand creeping down his arm obviously doesn't set right with Kyle, seeing as how he not only pulls away from me, but takes the liberty of snatching Stan's hand and dragging him along for the ride.

"Figured out what?" Stan has the balls to actually ask that even as him and Kyle remain glued at the hands. I can see that Kyle's fingers are now purple from Stan's death grip, but his wince is kept to a minimum.

I sigh and roll my eyes. "You two have been doing more groping than a football player in a patch of cheerleaders. I always knew you two would end up fucking each other sooner or later. Turns out to be sooner, I didn't think it would happen until college."

He rubs the back of his neck nervously, leaning closer into Kyle and looking everywhere but at me. "Dude, I-"

"No." Kyle cut him off, pries his hand away and flexes his fingers to get the feeling back. "Just stay out of this, Kenny."

Stan blinks, then looks over at him. "Dude, chill out."

"No way," He argues, his hand making a smooth motion outward. Hmm, maybe he really _is _gay. "I know you, Kenny. You're going to pry every single detail out of us and then relay it all to Cartman for a five dollar bill."

"Ah, come on, Kyle," Stan starts.

"You really think that's what I would do?" I question him, a little intimidated by the coldness of his eyes.

"I know that's what you would do!"

"Kyle," Stan voices again.

"He doesn't know anything about love, Stan." He attests, startling me with the words. "He would make a huge ass joke out of it, you know that."

I look to the dark haired youth for some kind of reaction, and don't like the one he gives.

"I know, but it isn't his fault."

"I'm not saying it's his fault." Kyle confirms. "He wouldn't understand, and I'm not willing to risk our friendship because of that. Now are you coming or not?"

"Alright, alright." Stan surrenders. "Lets go."

"Kyle, wait." I call out.

He turns to face me, but there isn't any hatred or accusation in his gaze like I thought there would be. There is only pity. "Please, Kenny. Just stay out of it. You wouldn't understand."

Stan stays by my side as we watch him begin to walk away. I look up at him. His eyes aren't glued to Kyle like I thought they would be, but instead locked on me.

I scoff and then laugh slightly. "I don't know anything about love." I parrot Kyle with coated sarcasm.

Stan's expression saddens. He looks almost sympathetic. There's a split second I think he's going to embrace me, but that moment was lost amongst the compassion in the deep blue of his eyes.

"You don't."

I feel my heart sink as he shoves his hands into his pockets and walks away from me, tracing Kyle's path. That's the third time in fifteen minutes someone walked away from me for the sole purpose of getting away from me.

I've never felt more alone. But, maybe I'm not the one who's alone. Maybe I'm the one who needs to disappear.

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_BratChild3 (-Lisha)_


	2. Kyle Smile

**Authors Note: **This posting two chapters a weeks instead of putting it all up at once is actually very helpful. Hopefully, this way I will have enough time to write further chapters and can keep posting on Monday and one Thrusday until it's complete. :)

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**Chapter 2- Kyle Smile:******

I like to hang around the curb outside Whistlin' Pete's Pizza every now and again, just like I'm doing this evening. Everyone knows I'm too poor for proper meals, so when they come out with their full belly's and extra slice of pizza or two and see me sitting all alone, hungry at dinner time, they'll usually give me their leftovers. But, that's only on the nights I'm lucky. Sometimes all I get is the pleasure of the warm aroma wafting out from the inside ovens. It makes me hate everyone who has the fortune to actually sit inside and eat it. They don't know how lucky they are, slurping their root beers and tossing out the unwanted crust that I would have gladly eaten. Wasteful bastards.

Sitting here has saved a lot of nights of going to bed on an empty stomach, though. Something I've learned contributes to nightmares, contrary to what "they" say about eating before you go to bed. Sleeping on a full stomach helps you actually _sleep. _Trying to sleep on an empty stomach makes you restless. If anyone ever tries to tell you otherwise, just say that Kenny McCormick thinks they're a lying sack of shit that needs to spend a week without food before opening their pie holes, because no one should honestly be that Goddamn, fucking stupid.

Then again, that's just me talking. Kenny McKormick; dirty little bastard. Ghetto grown, pocket picker. Twisted fuck. No wonder Butters parents don't want him hanging out with me anymore. I'm surprised Kyle's mother allows it. After all, wouldn't it be easy for the piece of shit, welfare boy to corrupt that delectable little Jew?

Of course it would. It's easier to pin their own children's bad behavior on the kid with no money. So, that's it, lets completely over look the fact that Stan fucks him during school hours, that Cartman picks on him mercilessly, and we'll all blame _Kenny, _because it's more _logical. _Beautiful. Just fucking beautiful.

I'm getting angrier by the second. My fingers are twisted in the fabric of my orange hood, white and numb from the pressure as I clutch and release, messing up the already disheveled hair beneath. And for once in my life I hate it; I hate my parka, I hate my blonde hair with all its tangles and dirt, I hate Kyle and his mom, I hate Whistling Pete and his goddamn pizza and all the wasteful, crust throw awayer, root beer drinking bastards, and I hate myself for hating everything. But most importantly, I hate Butters.

I hate him so goddamn much for leaving me _alone_ and never even telling me _why. _I like to think we had gotten kind of close. Maybe never Stan and Kyle close (even before their fuck-a-thon began) but still close. I trusted that kid with everything. I never told him all my secrets, but he told me all of his. He told me all his feelings. And I sort of liked that. I felt like I belonged, like he saw us as equals even though we're obviously not. I always felt a tug at my heart when I looked at him, because even though I had friends and he really didn't, we were still both so alone.

And now, he just ditches me. He could have told me what happened. He could have had someone else tell me. He didn't have to leave me in the dark. He knows I hate _Alone. _More than anyone, he knows that. Maybe I'd be hurt if I knew how to hurt. But I only know how to be angered. Because I'm Kenny. Kenny's poor so Kenny can't hurt. That's their theory. Maybe I believe it, too.

I rub at my eyes, hating the burning sensation they have. I slide my cold, dry fingers upward until they slip beneath my hood and push it off my head to land softly on my shoulders. I don't care at the moment about that as my fingers work their way through the cornflower tresses on my scalp, massaging in slow, circular movements.

There's a presence to my right, and I turn my head to look when I feel someone sit beside me. Kyle's the misfortunate bastard that had the bad sense to bother me. His elbows are resting on his knees, his chin in his palms. He looks thoughtful, almost as if he didn't even see me there.

_Christ._ Don't tell me I've died again and just don't know it.

"Kenny," He speaks on a sigh, and I can't help but release a breath of pure relief. Death is just a little more than I can deal with right now, thank you very much.

"I'm, um, I… I'm really sorry."

I blink at him, surprised by this. He's usually so firm in what he believes. Whatever reasons he had for being so harsh earlier in the day had to have been justified somehow. At least in his eyes. I guess that's a trait he picked up from his mother. Not exactly something I'd be proud of if I were him, and I don't think he is, either. At least he's able to recognize that he's not always right. I'll give him points for that.

I'm looking at him now, staring. His expression is so considerate, and it makes me want to slap him. Not that I'm annoyed with him, only the emotions that come so easily. I wish he would say something else. A few minutes go by that I don't respond to him in any way. Because I'm like that. I've never talked much before, and I still don't. What's the point? I'm Kenny. I'm here to listen, not to talk.

"Stan's important to me." His voice breaks through the silence, clear and clean. "Not that you aren't," He's quick to add this last part. I don't know why. He's never reassured me about anything before. I've always known that Stan was more important to him than I was, it's always been obvious. "You know what's going on between us."

I nod, still not offering any verbal conversation. I wonder why they never get annoyed with that, but they don't. That pizza's smelling better by the second. My stomach's growling, but I say nothing about that, either.

"But it's more than sex, Kenny." He finishes. Finally he looks up into my eyes, and he smiles at me. But it isn't a "Kyle Smile". Bright and cheerful and always whole hearted. It's just a smile, wistful and broken. It makes my heart hurt.

"I'm so… in love- with him." He breaths this softly, not quite a whisper. It holds so much emotion that _I _can feel it, in my stomach, in my mind. His arms slide from his knee's and wrap around his waist. He inhales the cool air sharply and cranes his neck to look up at the softly darkening sky, just now becoming aglow with the first visible star.

"I don't expect," He swallows. "you to understand, exactly, how serious I am when I say that. How much that I… mean it."

He blinks, smiles again. It's not sorrowful at all like I had previously thought. It's different, somehow. His smile is _different_.

"Why'd you freak out about me knowing?" I blurt out. I never did have any regard for treading straight into something that's none of my damn business in the first place. If I want to know, I'm going to ask. Simple as that. "You're not one of those 'Oh my god! I'm gay and no one can ever find out or I'll _kill myself!_' people, are you?"

He squeezes his eyes closed and lets out a series of laughs. I laugh, too, though I'm really not sure what the hell's so funny.

"No, I'm not." He assures around dying laughter. Despite how happy he looks, how vibrant and alive and complete, there's also a hint of sadness. That piece of emotion begins to surface now as he plays with the fabric of his pants that covers his left knee. "It's not forever, dude." He stalls a minute, staring hard into nothingness. "Me and… and Stan, I mean."

I open my mouth to speak, but close it again upon closer inspection of his eyes. He swallows hard and blinks rapidly, telltale signs that whatever he wants to say isn't easy for him. I know that Kyle isn't perfect, but sometimes it's hard for someone like me to remember that, until I'm reminded by moments like these.

"That's why I was so…"

"Bitchy." I supply when he trails off. He snorts a short laugh and I smile at him, even though he still won't look at me. Why won't he look at me? He rarely ever sees my face exposed like this, he should be staring openly. Maybe I'm too hideous. Maybe he can't bear to look at me for fear of me seeing his face scrunch up in distaste.

"Yeah, bitchy." He echo's me. "Our time together is- it's limited. We only have right now, and I don't… want to share it. With anyone."

I'm trying to figure out what's so different about him as he turns his eyes back to me. They glisten like jewels and almost seem to flash their icy green with each blink he takes. I realize for the first time that _Kyle _is different. Not just his smile. Maybe he's crazy.

"Why can't it be forever?" I debate with honest curiosity. "If you're so in love with each other, why can't you stay together?"

He looks bewildered by this. "If my mom ever found out, she'd… God, she'd take down the entire United States government for it, and possibly Canada, too." He smiles sadly, then shakes his head leisurely and sighs again, letting the smile drop. "Me and Stan, we both know it's only temporary. We have a lot of feelings for each other, but some day we're going to have to grow up and get married," He pauses. "To _women, _have a family and… and settle for seeing each other once a week, when we get together on Saturdays to go fishing and drink beer and talk about how our wives are driving us crazy and our kids are spawns of Satan."

I chuckle at the mental image, and so does he. But he's quick to get serious again.

"It tears me apart to think about." He admits. "But, this… isn't a fairy tale. We can't tell our parents and everything will be okay, they would never… they wouldn't ever be okay with it. I know they wouldn't. Not… my mother. And we can't just run off somewhere together."

The bell on the door behind us chimes. Kyle lowers his eyes and tightens his arms around himself. I look back at the man pleadingly, but he doesn't even notice us. I notice Kyle glance at him out of the corner of his eye, almost defensively, and we both watch him until he rounds the first corner, me sniffing the lingering scent of the pizza he carried in his arms.

I ignore my loudly protesting stomach once again and look back at Kyle just in time to see him wipe his eyes with his wrists.

"Why can't you run away? It's suppose to be romantic and orgasmic and all that other yummy, delicious, boneifying crap." I promise him.

"It isn't reasonable." He attests, and for the second time I want to slap him. "You've got to keep it quiet, Kenny. We don't want it to end because our parents tear us apart. We want to… be able to let go and still be friends without them trying to stop that, and it isn't going to happen if it's a huge joke. I know I have to let go sometime, but I'm just… not ready. Not- not now."

I know this is hard for him to think about and even harder to talk about. I decide now that Kyle isn't crazy. Kyle really is in love.

"I promise, dude. I won't tell anyone."

He smiles at me, a "Kyle Smile" and settles his palm on my shoulder. "Thanks, Kenny." He stands and stretches the muscles in his arms and back by reaching them over his head and arching his spine back. My vision automatically falls to the front of his pants and suddenly I forget all about pizza and root bear, but Kyle's just taking notice.

"Hey," He says, and my eyes snap up to his, guilty and afraid he caught me sizing up his lower half. His thumb is pointed at the door of the pizza place. "Want some pizza? I'm starving."

Before I can even answer, he's half way through the door and turns to face me. "Come on, I'm buying."

He lets the door waft closed behind him. I'm on my feet and tracing his steps a moment later, thanking the lord I don't have to go to sleep on a near empty stomach tonight.

* * *

_-BratChild3 (Lisha)_


	3. Mirror, Mirror

**Chapter 3- Mirror, Mirror.**

I dream about her a lot. Especially on the nights it's coldest. She was always afraid I would freeze to death during the middle of the night because the heater in my house was usually busted and of course we didn't have the money to fix it. I would wait until her parents had gone to bed and then I would sneak into her window -shivering and snow covered- and she would keep me warm.

That's how it started out, at least. After a while it become a nightly ritual. We never agreed to this, it just sort of happened.

I used to watch her eyes as she unzipped my parka. It was always dirty and wet and worn, but she would fold it carefully and place it on the foot of her bed, then turn to me with a smile.

"There you are." She would say, in the warm, gentle voice as she touched my face. She would stare at me for a long time, but I didn't mind. I never felt unworthy when she looked at me. Her eyes were always so admiring, as if I were the greatest person in the entire world. I never asked her if she was actually thinking that. In a way I guess I was a little bit afraid of what the answer would be.

A kiss always came next, but for some reason I was surprised every time I felt her breath fan against my face and then the light pressure of her cherry chapstick flavored lips. This is when the inevitable buzz would begin in my head. It was like I were drunk off her taste. But my favorite part came afterward, when she would hug me so tight I felt like I was being drawn into her. Her hands would run the length of my arms and slip around my shoulders. I never could keep my eyes open when her long, artistic fingers grazed up my neck and began sifting therapeutically through the disheveled tresses.

"I've missed you." She would say, even though I had only seen her a few hours ago at school. It was like she could never get enough of me, and if I were perfectly honest with myself I could admit that I felt exactly the same way about her. I used these moments to soak in every ounce of her, cling tightly and nuzzle my face in her hair. She smelled like honey-scented soap and fabric softener.

When she would let go, I would follow suit after a long, reluctant pause. My eyes would open just as hesitantly, and I was blessed with her prismatic gaze.

Her hand would smooth back down my arm where she would clasp her right in my left. I was treated to _that smile _again as she led me to her bed. After she was settled, she would outstretch her arms to me. I used the toe of my shoe to step on the heal of the other and remove them both. I would kick them under the bed and then climb in with her. Her arms locked around me, mine around her. Our chests would be crushed together, hearts beating simultaneously, legs sandwiched together. And I felt loved, and I felt wanted, lying together that way. Sometimes we would talk, other times we would let kisses and caresses be our only form of communication. But one thing was always the same when I was with her; I would fall asleep with a light heart, a smile on my face, and my forehead pressed against hers.

But those days are over. A completely different time, a different place. Something I can't ever find my way back to, no matter how hard I try, no matter what I do. I can't ever get that back. Not the warmth, not her smile, not the feeling. It's gone.

So now I watch her outside her glass platted window. The moon is full and bright enough to illuminate her sleeping figure in a silvery glow. I close my eyes and swallow back apprehension before knocking. It's just a light _tap tap tap, _but she hears it. Her lavender blanket twists as she turns to see who's knocking on her window at such a late hour. It must be nearing two AM by now. I know the moment she recognizes me by the way she rolls her eyes and flings her blanket off. In a matter of seconds, she's unlatching the lock and opening the window.

"What are you doing here?"

Her words are neither demanding or harsh, but it's clear she isn't happy to see me either. Her window creeks open a little more. I can see my reflection on the surface.

"Cold…" I breathe out and it's carried away by the breeze.

"What?" She whispers back, though it's clear and biting. Her eyebrows furrow in annoyance.

"I'm cold." I repeat in the same quiet tone. I don't know what's wrong with me right now, but I feel so lost and helpless.

"You're not cold, Kenny. You're horny." She hisses. Coal black hair flairs around her as she turns and looks toward her bedroom door, then looks at me again. "You'd better go home before you wake up my parents."

My eyes are focused on the metal window frame and my fingers clench it tightly. It's cold even through the material of my worn, brown gloves. I close my eyes as the wind picks up and whips my hair around, but they remain sealed even after it dies out.

"Kenny?" Her voice holds a ring of concern.

I jerk slightly when her warm hand settles over mine. I begin to quake so badly I'm afraid I might fall. Death really is an inconvenience I'd rather not deal with at the moment. My chest hurts too much for that. There's a tight lump in my throat that makes it painful to swallow. I turn my palm upward and slide my thumb across her smooth skin, shuttering harder when I think about how good it feels against the rest of my body.

"…Wendy." I breathe it against the loneliness. I try to stop it but it's inevitable. One by one tears drip off my eyelashes, roll down my cheeks to my chin and ping against the windowsill.

"Kenny? Kenny, I… It's going to be okay." She promises. "You'll feel better in the morning. You know how you get late at night."

I want to throw-up. Somehow I'm able to contain the bile making the pit of my stomach sour. I look back up at her. The leg of her pajama shorts is pulled up her thigh and her hair is a mess. Somehow she's even more beautiful that way. The expression on her face says she's pitying me. I hate it when people pity me.

"Kenny…?" She lifts my hand and presses it between both of hers. I crave her touch, but somehow this simple gesture only makes me want it more. "You shouldn't be alone tonight."

My eyes brighten and for a split second I feel my heart inflate.

"I'll call Stan. He'll wait up until you get there."

And my heart sinks in my chest like a coin dropped into the ocean. I look back down at my hand between hers and give a gentle squeeze.

"I'll call Stan." She repeats.

I try to hold on when she pulls away from me, but I'm such a loser I can't even accomplish that.

"He'll let you stay with him as long as you need to, okay? You don't have to be alone."

I don't want Stan. Stan is probably cuming all over Kyle right about now. Though normally I'd love nothing more then to witness that -or be in the middle of it- it isn't what I want. What I want is the warmth of the girl dialing the numbers that will break Stan away from his Jewish-made sex toy.

I sniffle, wipe my nose with the back of my hand and give Wendy one last dejected stare. I begin the climb down until my shoes hit solid earth. They're so thin that I can practically feel every blade of grass and every grain of sand through the soles. But at least I have some. I cut across her yard quickly, not wanting her to notice my departure and try to convince me to go to Stan.

I slow to a leisurely pace once I hit the main sidewalk. I jam my hands into my pockets and shift my vision up to the darkly painted sky. The pinpoint light of a satellite floats by and I watch it until it disappears. They're really hard to see unless you know exactly what you're looking for. They look like a faint star, only it moves slowly across the sky. You have to stare straight up at one spot in order to see them out of the corner of your eye. They tend to disappear if you look at them directly. Butters taught me this. He's actually extremely smart when it comes to things like that. Book smart. He just lacks in the common sense and street smart genres. That's _my_ specialty.

One thing I learned on my own is that shooting stars aren't as rare as most people think they are. In fact, if you watch the night sky for a few hours, you're sure to see several of them. Butters says I'm just lucky. He's only seen one his entire life. I think he's wrong. If I were lucky, I wouldn't be lonely enough to watch for them as often as I do.

I pause the longer I dwell on it. I squeeze my eyelids tight, the image of _her _coming to mind the moment I do. With my face turned upward toward the crystal clear heavens, rejection rains all around me. I don't know what I did to deserve this. I don't know what I did to make her stop wanting me, but she did, and she won't even tell me why. I can't ever be mad at her, I just can't. But I am mad, so mad I wish I could scream, I wish I could yell, cry, make her hurt like I'm hurting. Maybe that makes me an asshole, but according to recent polls I already am. So fuck it. Fuck her and fuck them.

I hang my head in misery and rub at the ache forming in the nape of my neck. Maybe she was right. Maybe I would feel better in the morning. I've been known to write down some pretty fucked up crap in the middle of the night. I remember taking my journal with me and showing it to her once. She gnawed a fingernail as she read a few pages. When she looked up at me her eyes were fresh with tears.

"Oh, _God_, Kenny," She had choked. Her arms reached out to me, reeling me into her slowly, as if I were made of glass and she was afraid I'd shatter. My arms snaked around her waist and she sobbed into my shoulder.

I was a little freaked out by the way she acted. I wasn't sure if she was mad at me, or scared, or … heartbroken. I didn't understand why she was crying, and I still haven't figured it out. We screwed for the first time that night, slow and deep and passionately. It was her first time. The idea that I'll always be special to her because of that provides little comfort to me now, but it's enough to soften the shards of sorrow.

I kick a round, gray rock out of my way as I start moving again. I watch the sidewalk this time, concentrating on my shoes appearing and disappearing beneath me and the sound of far off crickets.

"_Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh!"_

I jump back, frozen again with a pounding heart when I hear this noise break out.

"What the _fuck…?" _I trail off instinctively.

My eyes scan the immediate area, seeking and finding the source of distraction.

"Butters." I tell myself as I begin toward the blonde. He's attempting to drag a street bike through a thicket of overgrown weeds. The small field cuts right across to the back of his house, which I'm certain is his destination.

The sound of my approaching footsteps makes him drop the motorcycle and spin around, where it lands on its side with a loud, metallic '_clunk!'._

"Oh, Kenny, you scared me!" He shouts in terror. "I thought you were a- an alien or somethin'!"

A smile is hidden beneath my hood. I nudge my chin toward the abandon Kawasaki. "Where'd you lift it from?"

"I didn't steal nothin'." He defends himself. "I-it's mine."

"Yours?" My eyebrows arch. "If it's yours, what are you doing sneaking around in the middle of the night?"

He looks down, ashamed as he begins to rub his knuckles. "Wuh-well, I'm not allowed to ride it since I wrecked it, see? It's been- sittin' in my dads shed since then. He fixed it up real nice an he's gonna sell it tomorrow. Heck, I just wanted ta… ta ride it one last time."

I nod and help him lift it back up, taking a moment to admire the dark blue body. "Looks like you busted it." I point out, eyeing the bent metal and spider-web crack in the side mirror.

Butters eyes widen in horror at the sight. "Oh, Jesus. I'm dead, Kenny, done for! Why, I'll be sent on the next train ta boarding school when my dad sees this!"

"Mellow out, dude." I command, inspecting the damage further. "I can fix this for you."

"You can?"

His words are hopeful. It makes me look back up at him with another grin. "Sure can. First, lets get it back the shed."

"Well… alright, then."

It takes a good fifteen minutes to get it through the small field of weeds and finally into his backyard. By the time we have it securely in the shed, I have to wipe the perspiration off my forehead.

"Your dad got tools?"

"In there." He points, rubbing an eye tiredly.

I nod, not even bothering to look in the general direction. "I'll be back in about twenty minutes. It's cold, you might wanna go inside. I'll have this fixed by the time you wake up."

Butters looks unsurely from me to the bike, and back. "Aren't you gonna fix it now?"

"I have to get something first." I explain.

"I'll wait up."

"…Are you sure? Because-"

"I'm sure. It's my bike, a-after all."

His hair has gotten longer since I saw him last. He pushes a stray piece out of his eye now and smiles at me. It's tired and unhappy.

"At least wait inside, it's cold out here."

"I'll go inside if I get- too cold." He agrees.

I return his smile and head for the doors. I feel his hand on my arm and stop.

"You are gonna come back, aren't you, Kenny?"

I find myself staring into his eyes again. "I promise."

-------------------------

It takes me a little longer than expected to find what I'm looking for. By the time I retrieve it and get back to the shed, a good hour has been lost.

I expect Butters to have gone inside and been asleep by now, but I spot him in the far corner, legs curled up to his stomach and his head resting against the wall. At first I think he's awake, but when I draw closer I can see that he's fast asleep.

I decide to get to work without waking him. It will only take a few minutes to perform a quick mirror swap, anyway.

Sometimes being poor can really have its advantages. Ever notice how people in the ghetto always have pieces of useless shit lying around their yards? Old outhouses, car's that don't work, broken porcelain bathtubs and generally anything you would find at a garbage dump site.

My family is no exception. But at least we have the decency to keep most of the crap in the back where no one sees it. I'm not really sure where most of it comes from or why my dad is so keen on collecting it, but it's always been a habit of mine to take things apart and either put them back together or make something more interesting out of the parts that still worked. Luckily, there's a mirror that will fit perfectly in place of the cracked one.

The sound of me digging through tools wakes Butters. He stretches lazily and yawns, reminding me of Cartman's cat after an afternoon nap. He's just in time to see me take a wrench to his street bike and mercilessly twist and yank the mirror off.

"What the heck are you doing!" He springs to his feet, ready to pounce.

"Fixing it." I reply simply. He eyes me warily and it make me laugh at him. "Trust me, I know what I'm doing."

He watches with unwavering awe as I add the new mirror with quick and accurate movements. The whole process takes less than ten minutes.

"Just like new." I remark, stepping back to admire my work.

Butters creeps closer and runs his fingers over the backside. "Whoa, it's perfect."

I shrug.

"Gee, I-I don't know how ta thank you, Kenny. You saved my life."

I place the last tool in its place and turn back around, only to get an armful of Butters. I breathe out a smile and secure my arms around him.

"You're my best- my best friend." He declares. "You know that, don't ya?"

The smile dies on my lips. "Yeah," I lie. "Yeah, I know that, Butters."

I wait until he enters his house, his bedroom light goes on, then turns off before I start toward my home. I don't particularly care how late it is and take my sweet ass time getting back. It's still dark by the time I make it into my bedroom and sink to the floor with my back against the frame of my bed, so I know it's not _too _late -- or early.

Butters says I should be a mechanic. He thinks I can really make something of myself, break away from poverty and nights of sitting outside waiting for pizza handouts. It makes me smile to think about, but dies out quickly as I look around my room. For some reason it's low class aura is comforting to me. Maybe it's just familiarity.

I don't have many things. Not many personal belongings. But that's never bothered me, for some reason. How can you miss what you've never had? You can't. You can only long for it. But longing is never as bad as missing. They say that it's better to have loved and lost. I think it's better to have never loved at all.

I'm forced to think about Wendy again. My stomach gives a painful lurch.

"Bitch." I hiss into my empty room. "Fucking bitch."

But even as I'm saying this, I know I don't really mean it. As I crawl into bed tonight, I'll dream about her all over again.

Feelings suck ass.

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**STOP! **Don't go anywhere until you leave a review! This is still a work in progress and I still need to know if people are interested or I wont be motivated to finish!

_-BratChild3 (Formerly BC2) _


	4. Paper Airplane

**Authors Note: **Thanks to those who reviewed, and all my lurkers. I check my stats, I know you're there. :P

All those in favor of me posting a chapter every day and get started on the NEW chapters, say I. I just have to know I have readers still, I'm trying to build my audience again.

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**Chapter 4- Paper Airplane.**

Butters is ignoring me again.

Monday, two days after I helped him with his dark blue Kawasaki, and he hasn't acknowledged me at all. I didn't hear from him all weekend and now back at school he's acting like I don't even exist. So much for the, "You're my best friend" bullshit he tried to sucker me over with. I knew I shouldn't have believed it and I didn't think I did then. But now I realize I must have believed him a little bit, or I wouldn't be so God damn pissed off. All I know is that someone needs to smack that kid upside the head. I'd do it myself, but unfortunately my arm doesn't stretch forty feet away from my body, which is the closest he'll get to me. This is how I know he's _avoiding _me and not that he actually doesn't realize I'm there.

It's third period math and when I first enter the classroom, I contemplate being an asshole. Butters sits in the far back corner of the room, right next to Tweek. All I would have to do to get Tweek to let me have his chair is make any kind of sudden movement. I actually feel sorry for the paranoid, jumpy, caffeine junkie. He's in need of some serious one on one loving. I'd kiss away all his jitters and make him feel even better than better, If I weren't afraid Craig would kick my ass for trying.

If I _did _swindle Tweeks desk for the period, I could ram my desk up against Butters and stare at him the whole damn time. After all, how can you ignore gazing eyes for a full forty minutes? He would _have _to talk to me.

Then I remember this councilor I talked to a few times when I was ten. She told me to focus on happy things whenever I'm feeling particularly moody or upset.

Sex equals happy Kenny.

Where do you find sex in math class? Second row, farthest from the door. It's unfortunate that Kyle doesn't share this class with us, I would have really loved to see some groping right about now.

That aside, I flop into the chair one row behind and just to the right of Stan. As the teacher begins the incredibly boring lecture, I gather a plain piece of paper from my desk and write; _Lets do some real math._

Underneath that I write;

_Add a bed, subtract the clothes, divide the legs and multiply._

I snicker as I fold it up, write "_Stan" _across the front and then tap his shoulder. He accepts the note without looking back.

While he's looking it over, I avert my attention to Butters. He's busy jotting down equations and answers. I watch his tongue as it travels the perimeter of his lips and disappears again. He pauses, gnaws the tip of his pen and then glances directly at me. He blinks when he notices me staring and quickly goes back to work.

I feel a smile creep up my face. The way his hair looks falling into his eyes is absolutely precious. It's so soft and shiny looking. I wonder what it would feel like to touch it. Probably smooth and slick, like silk. Or even feathery.

I'm brought around when a wad of paper smacks me in the face and tumbles into my lap. I quickly open it and read Stan's writing;

_Beer + porno + Butters equals Kenny joygasms._

_I see you staring at him, you twisted fuck._

I snort a loud laugh when I read the answer and quickly slam my face into my arms to try and keep quiet.

He's actually drawn the "_Joygasms"_ in a very creative, bubble figure way. The bottom looks like it's dripping with cum and he's even taken the liberty of drawing a tongue about to lap it up.

When I sit up I realize Stan is snickering, too. I bite my laughter back and add more to our paper.

_I'm staring at him because he's been ignoring me. Now who's the twisted fuck? Besides:_

_Stan + Kyle equals Jewish- cum showers. (You don't even need the beer)_

I lean forward as far as I can go, slipping it into his lap and intentionally rubbing my hand against his thigh as I retract it. I don't know what it is about Stan in general, but I've always wanted to run my hand over the bulge I know resides beneath his loose pants and long shirts. I started fanaticizing about it in the movie theater last summer. I never actually went along with instinct, but I can't say that would be true today if Kyle and Cartman hadn't been there.

He catches my subtle intention now and shoots me a dirty look. I smile and wave.

I look back up at Butters and catch his eye again. He doesn't snap his eyes away like he did the first time, but casually looks over to Tweek and nudges his side.

"Ah!" Tweek jumps.

"Shh!" Butters hiss-whispers, then glances at the teacher. Noting the cost clear, he then leans into Tweek and whispers to him. Tweek bites all of his nails as he listens.

"Oh, Jesus!" He finally exclaims. "Oh, God!"

He accepts a small, folded piece of paper from Butters, twitches as he looks toward the teacher, and with another whispered encouragement from Butters, hurriedly moves into the empty seat in front of him and two seats over from me. I stare at him as he leans far over to hand it to me.

"What's that?" I whisper.

"Ah! God, Here! Just take it!" He tosses it at me and hightails it back to his desk, slamming his knee into his chair and letting out a yelp as he does so.

The entire class seems to take a deep breath and hold it as the teacher turns around to examine us. Extreme note-passing, bubble gum chewing, and insulting doodles of teachers have been erupting silently behind her. One wrong movement could mean the difference between going back to those activities as soon as her back is toward us again, or being sent to the field to run laps as punishment for the rest of the period; whether or not any of us have gym next.

Her eyes pause on Tweek, who's shaking so violently in his seat I'm tempted to put a cup of ice and fruit in his lap and make a smoothie. Blender boy's eye twitches and he munches harder on his nails. The teacher simply smiles at him reassuringly and asks if he's okay.

"Gah! I am, I just- oh, Jesus!" He looks at me.

I glare.

She tells him it's alright, and he can step out for a minute if he needs to. Not only is she a math teacher, but also a certified counselor. She has a weak spot for freak outs like Tweek. We all exhale our pent-up breaths and go back to not listening to her when she faces the blackboard and begins babbling about numbers and equations again.

I stare down at the neatly folded, light blue stationary I'm clutching and scratch my head thoughtfully, even though I can barely feel it through the orange material. I look at Butters just in time to see him avert his attention from me and down at his desktop. He fiddles with his chewed up pencil and I open his note.

_Stop looking at me._

My forehead scrunches in confusion, then anger. My icy glance slices back to him. He's still playing with his pencil, head downward with an extremely annoyed look on his normally pleasant face. My fingers crunch into the paper. Stan slips "our" note onto my desk again. I'm too pre-occupied to care at the moment, and instead write a bold, black; _FUCK YOU! _across Butters note. My hands tremble as I fold it into a classic paper airplane with an especially sharp front end. With a quick glance at the teacher, I hurl it toward the little shit's head and hit dead on.

"Ow." I hear him groan.

It would be cute if I didn't want to rip his nuts off with my dirty, gutter- boy hands.

He rubs his palm against the abused spot on his head and then unfolds the note. His eyes widen and his jaw drops slightly, giving me a sense of satisfaction. I'm just about to open Stan's note when I hear Butters crumble the paper into a tight ball and attempt at hitting _me _in the head. Instead, it flies right passed me.

I peek over at him again. His arms are folded tightly across his chest and his lip is protruding out in an open pout. Now, Butters isn't usually mean to people, and when he is, it's completely childish. He demonstrates this now by sticking his tongue out at me.

My hand cracks against my desk loudly as I lurch from my chair, more than eager to beat the ever loving crap out of him. Unfortunately, the noise grabs the attention of every living thing in the room and just as I grasp the front of his shirt, I feel arms encircle my waist from behind.

"Whoa, whoa, Dude! What the hell?"

It all happens so fast, I'll never know how Stan got to me so quickly.

"What on _Earth _is going on!" The teacher demands.

I remain silent, seething fiercely as Stan pulls me away, but I keep eye contact with my prey, mouthing deadly threats. He looks almost as terrified as Tweek, who made a break for it and was now literally in Craig's lap, teeth chattering like the wined- up toys you can buy at Halloween. Apparently, he also possesses the gift to travel at the speed of light. There's no other way to explain how he got from his desk and clear across the room to Craig's without anyone noticing.

"Mr. McKormick," The teacher spits. "I wont tolerate any outburst in the middle of my class."

"What about the beginning?" Clyde asks, sending everyone besides Tweek, Butters, Stan and I into a round of laughter. The sad thing is, I think he was serious when he asked.

"Extremely amusing." She replies in a clipped tone before diverting her full attention back to me. "If you can't behave, the both of you are going straight to the field to run laps."

"Damnit, Kenny, be cool." Stan whispers in my ear.

I jerk violently out of his grasp, my eyes narrowed on Butters as I sit back down. He's smashing his knuckles together fearfully.

Stan casts me a pleading look, but I ignore him. As the teacher proceeds with the lesson, he tosses back another note.

_Are you okay? Kyle's the one who usually leaps and attacks unsuspecting victims, not you._

I breath deeply and write back.

_I'll tell you about it later._

This must satisfy him, because he never writes back.

It takes all my effort not to look at Butters again. And I'm not doing it just because he told me not to, I'm doing it because I honestly don't think I can keep my ass planted in my seat if I do. He's pissed me off in a way no one has been able to in a very long time. I have to bite my lip to keep from screaming, and stomp the heal of my shoe onto the floor. It crunches on something under the desk. It's not until I retrieve it that I realize it's mine and Stan's previous note. I open it without anything hitting me this time. He's drawn a thick line through my last equation.

_Stan + Kyle equals Jewish - cum showers. (You don't even need the beer)_

Underneath it he wrote:

_Stan+ Kyle equals love. (We don't even need the cum- showers)_

Something in me breaks. The anger vanishes and I'm left with that deep buzz off _alone._ The note is squeezed into my fist, releasing my last bit of anger. Then I burry my face in my arms.

Suddenly I feel like lowest form of asshole.

------------------------------------------------

The part of the day I've been dreading most comes way too soon; Gym. Surprisingly, it's not because of the usual reasons. I'm lazy, most sports sucks ass, and anyone would want to ditch if a short, loud woman with more muscles than a champion body builder were your coach. I think she's a dyke.

No. I _know _she's a dyke. And a bitch.

But that doesn't worry me. The part that worries me is Wendy. A lot of times we're grouped into pairs of two for this reason or that, and we're always together. There isn't a golden, unbreakable rule saying we have to _stay _paired together, but I know in my heart that we will be.

I can hear my pulse pounding in my ears as I walk out onto the field. There's a physical fitness test today. I'm the exact opposite of enthusiastic. Last year, I not only had the energy of a turtle during hibernation, but my pull- up ratio was a grand total of six. Of course, I hadn't eaten in two days or slept at all the night before. I figure I'm more well off this year, but I still don't like to think about it.

Wendy smiles and waves at me before trudging over. "Hi, Kenny."

I smile back. "Hey."

"Ready for another forty minutes of hell?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

We chuckle and link our arms together as we listen to the coach preach about the importance of fitness and that we should treat our bodies like a car.

Right, and I'm sure she'd like to ride every single one of us. Or at least the female half of us.

No matter how much I hate her, I always like when she takes a long time to lecture us. Wendy takes this time to lean her head against my shoulder and her fingers glide over my palm and wrist to the sensitive bend in my elbow, then back down.

As she does it today I feel like I'm going to fall asleep. This isn't a surprise at all. Our night and day relationship is as different as night and day themselves. It always has been. So while during the night time we went from cuddle buddies, to lovers, to queen bitch and king of pathetic; During daylight hours we've remained friends and gym partners.

I rest my head up against hers and close my eyes as the sensations travel across my skin. I feel myself start to drift to sleep when the coach yells; "_Now get your asses moving!"_

I'm not an athlete, and I don't want to be one. Considering that, I think I do extremely well on everything except push ups. The coach is a different story entirely. She thinks we all did pathetic. While she goes to cool off before her next class, we're sentenced to sit-ups until the bell rings.

Try to imagine what it's like; the only girl I ever came close to loving, wearing short gym shorts and lying on the ground while I hold her ankles down for leverage. My eyes drift between her thighs. I can feel my body temperature begin to rise steadily and my blood flowing to lower regions.

I shift uncomfortably.

The sound of a loud exhale draws my attention back to her face. Her arms are outstretched beside her. And all I can think about is the way it feels to be inside of her.

"Okay," She breaths. "Your turn."

I don't budge.

"Kenny?"

I want to kiss her. I want to feel her arms around me.

"Wendy-"

"Please, don't."

She already knows what I want to say. Why won't she let me talk about it? Why won't she give me a reason if she can't give me her love?

"Let me up." She demands this.

"Wendy, _please…" _I move my hands from her ankles and secure them on each side of her, sliding through her raised knee's and pining her down with my own body.

Both of us are breathing hard and deep, staring at each other silently.

"Wendy-"

"No!" She shrieks.

The other students have already left for the showers early. We're all that's left.

She squeezes her eyes tightly closed so she doesn't have to look at me. Instead of arguing, I lower my head and brush my lips across her eyelids. First one side, then the other. When I lift my head and look at her, tears are streaming down her cheeks. I feel my head lowering, slower this time, until my forehead touches hers. I close my eyes, rub my nose on one side of hers and kiss her cheek. It's not until I move to sit up that I notice she's clutching my shirt tightly, holding me down against her. I don't know what she wants from me, and I feel like I'll break down in sobs if I don't stop acting like such a damn pussy. I don't want to leave her like this, but the only thing that gives me enough courage is the fact that next time I see her, it will be like this never happened at all.

I kiss her gingerly on the lips and then walk away.

* * *

_-BratChild3_


	5. Keeper Of Smokes

**Authors Note: **Okay. :) I'll post one of these chapters up each day, not including the weekend. So you can expect the new chapter monday or tuesday. I'm glad to see I still have an audience.

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**Chapter 5- Keeper Of Smokes.**

Wendy is talking to me again by the time the clock strikes lunch. I squint my eyes against the bright glare of the sun and leave the cafeteria empty handed. Oddly enough, I don't want food right now, even though lunch period is usually the only time I eat a regular meal. What I want is a cigarette. I haven't gotten my paws on one for two whole days and the cravings are becoming unbearable. Kyle would have my ass if he knew what I was about to do, but honestly I don't give a shit right now. In Cartman's words; Jew boy can kiss my black ass.

I seek and find exactly what I'm looking for; my brown eyed, blue hatted, Craigy-boy. He's lurking amongst the shadows of the building, as usual. The only place you're unnoticeable enough not to be bothered, but noticeable enough to not look like you're trying to hide.

I'm proud of his sneakiness.

Not only that, but If Craig were an Indian, his name would be Asshole; Keeper of Smokes. He isn't exactly the nicest guy to bum a cigarette off, but he always has them, and that's what counts. He's always the bitchiest when he's alone with Tweek and gets interrupted. This proves to be kind of a problem now. He's got the blonde pinned against the side of the building -not close enough to be "found out", but close enough in my eyes- and his hands gripping the blondes shaking shoulders. Craig's fingers are caressing lightly, subtly and he's talking low. Tweek's rattled nerves are down to a minimum and he's smiling at Craig, though he twitches every few seconds. Craig is his drug, even more so then the fifty foot wide cappuccino clutched in his hand.

I slip my hands into my pockets and walk toward them loudly. They're so absorbed in each other they don't even notice me when I stop beside them. Craig leans his forehead against Tweek's. His palm coasts down his arm and clutches his free hand.

"Hey, dudes." I greet them.

I can't figure out if it's the "Hey" or the "dudes" that's the magic word to make them jump apart as violently as they do.

"Ah! Oh, Jesus! Kenny, I'm sorry! Butters told me to give you the note! Oh, God! I didn't even know what it said! He just kept saying it was really important!"

"Tweek, dude, it's okay." I hold a hand up in a defenseless gesture.

Craig's glaring at me. It's the single most dirty look I've ever seen outside murder movies. "What the hell do you want?" He growls.

Tweek is peeking out from behind him, praises of "Jesus! Oh, God!" streaming out his mouth. Craig's hand seeks and find his, holding firm and comfortingly.

I grin.

"Can I bum a smoke?"

"No. Get the fuck out of here." Craig's voice is steady and harsh.

I'm not looking at him. I'm concentrating on the blonde peering nervously at me. He's pretty cute, I have to admit. Craig has good taste. And god _damn _it must be hot trying to calm him down. I can only imagine what kind of a lay someone with that much over-produced energy would be like.

"I'm not mad at you. It's okay, baby." I reach my hand out and caress against the front of his shirt. "Want me to make it better?"

"Ah!" He shrieks again. "I- I can't! I… Craig!"

A strong force shoves me backward, nearly knocking me off balance. I can't help but laugh.

"Don't you ever fucking touch him again!" Craig bellows. His voice is so loud it echo's off the building and birds scatter from a tree. "Where the hell do you get off?"

"I'm upset and I need a quick fix. I can think of two things that will make me happy. A cigarette," My eyes zero in on Tweek again. "Or a blonde."

"Oh, God!"

A half pack of Marlboro's is slammed into my stomach. "Take it, you fucking piece of white trash! You shit! You fucker!"

I grin and snatch it away, securing the box in my pocket and shoving a stick between my lips. "Thanks, Craigy baby. You're such a generous sex-God."

"Fuck you!"

"Maybe later." I assure.

I start to walk away then turn to Tweek and wink.

"Ah!"

I laugh when Craig flips me the bird.

He thinks I'm an asshole, but I'm actually doing him a favor. Now he gets to calm Tweek down all over again and I know he likes it. Besides, he's the only one who _can _calm him down. It reminds me of this bird I had. I was the only one it didn't totally freak out around. It even had yellow feathers. I'll always think of Tweek as Craig's little yellow canary.

I light my newly conned cigarette and take a nice deep inhale of nicotine. It fills my lungs with its poison and makes me feel better all over. I walk toward my tree without even having to think about it. I always hang out behind it when I'm lucky enough to have a smoke. It's trunk is so thick there's plenty of room to stretch out without anyone noticing you're there.

Today, I stop short as I round it. I have company. Kyle is sitting with his back pressed against the trunk and his legs stretched out in front of him. He's staring off into space, idly stroking the nape of Stan's neck, who's head is against Kyle's chest and arms draped around his waist. I think he's asleep.

Kyle's nose scrunches up and he turns to look at me.

"Oh, Jesus Christ." He huffs. "I thought I smelled cigarettes. What the hell are you doing with that?"

"Smoking it." I reply smartly, crossing my legs and planting myself beside him. "I'm having a fucked up day."

"You said you were going to quit."

"No," I argue, taking another long drag. "I said I _should _quit, I never said I was actually going to do it."

Kyle rolls his eyes, letting them land on the boy in his lap.

"Stan sleeping?" I gesture my hand toward him.

Kyle waves away the smoke. "Yes. Could you please keep that shit away from us?"

I turn away from him, inhaling and exhaling off of it quickly several times before smashing it out with my shoe. "Happy?"

"No. Kenny, you're going to kill yourself." He lectures.

"You're fucking kidding me, right?"

"Do you know how many people die every year?"

"Do you know how many times _I _die a year?"

"Hilarious."

"I thought so."

His fingers aren't stroking anymore. Instead, his hands have paused, flattened against Stan's back.

"Stan told me you tried to kill Butters today." He changes the subject.

Stan really is over dramatic. I guess that's one of the things I love about him. I pluck a piece of grass and twirl it between my fingers. "I didn't try to kill him, I tried to hurt him. But only a little." I hold my index finger and thumb a short distance away from each other to symbolize my minimal intentions.

"What happened, couldn't get in his pants?"

"Hey, fuck you! I could screw his brains out anytime, any place!"

"H'yeah, right." He agrees around a sarcastic laugh. "What did he do to piss you off so bad, anyway?"

I'm now picking blades of grass violently and tossing them away from me. The subject of Butters makes me so pissy, I swear he's my own personal PMS. I wonder if there's a special kind of Midol for it.

"He's ignoring me."

"That's it?" He asks, as if it weren't driving me absolutely hostile. "Dude, He _can't _talk to you anymore. His parents-"

"I know, I know." I spit. "That still doesn't explain why he's ignoring me at school. His parents aren't here to see it."

Kyle shrugs. "You know how Butters is. If his parent's say no, they say no."

I unfold the note Butters had crammed into a tiny ball and unroll it. "He threw this at me."

Kyle accepts the note, taking special care not to bump Stan and wake him up as he reaches over.

"Stop looking at me." He reads aloud before lowering it. "Why were you looking at him?"

"Because he's ignoring me!"

"So you _stare _at him?" He wads the paper back up and throws it at my head. Stan's eyes pop open, but only I notice. "You're a retarded reject, Kenny."

I catch the paper and pocket it again. "I wasn't _staring, _I was glancing at him for prolonged periods of time."

The Jew scoffs. "You have bullshit justifications for everything you do."

"And my justifications are justified." I insist. "Wouldn't you stare at Stan if he were ignoring you?"

"No way," He shakes his head and tightens his arms around the said boy, as if he could somehow stop that from happening by squeezing him to death. "If Stan ever ignored me, I handcuff myself to him and force him to tell me what's up."

Stan smiles, closes his eyes and squeezes Kyle's waist. He looks like he's about ready to purr. Kyle glances down at him, but I still don't think he realizes his kitty woke up.

"Handcuff him to a bed, and _I _can tell you _exactly_ what's up." I bob my eyebrows at him.

"Kenny… Goddamn- _it!" _He shrieks this last part and jerks back when Stan gives his inner thigh a quick and playful pinch.

Stan pushes himself into a sitting position as him and I burst into musical laughter. It sucks that Kyle can't find any humor in it, and instead rubs his pinched skin and then glares at Stan.

"Shit, dude, what the hell was that for?"

"I'm sorry, Kyle, I'm not talking to you. Maybe you'd better get the handcuffs." He fails miserably to keep the smile off his face, and I don't even try to keep the growing laughter bubbling my throat quiet.

"It's not fucking funny. I was being serious and that hurt." Kyle snaps.

Honestly, I'm a bit worried about him. He's usually snappy and bitchy, but lately its become ridiculously common. I've been meaning to ask Stan about it, but never did get the chance. Something is obviously munching on his nads, and not in the good way.

"Want me to kiss it all better?"

Kyle's expression softens and my eyebrows shoot up at Stan's offer. Oh, for fucks sake, make him say yes!

"Fuck you." Kyle grins.

And just like that his anger evaporates as if it had never existed at all. Maybe Stan is his drug, just like Craig is Tweeks. But if that's true, then maybe that's all a lover is. A form of medication. If Craig is Tweeks nerve tonic, and Stan is Kyle's anger suppresser, maybe it's possible that Wendy was my anti- depressant.

Stan's smile brightens at Kyle's reaction. He winks at me, then grabs Kyle's ankle and pulls the insanely delighted Jew toward him. His shirt bunches slightly as he's dragged across the grass. Stan slides his hands up Kyle's legs and lets them rest on his hips. He glances around for any lurkers, then lowers his head and begins applying rapid, flirty kisses on the inside of Kyle's leg. His mouth is so close to "little Kyle" I don't know why he isn't springing up for attention. I know I'm getting hot as hell just from watching.

Kyle's uncontrollable laughter and wiggling settles into a completely unsuppressed wide and triangular smile when Stan lifts his head again.

"Feel better?" His hand strokes the area he just kissed. He's knelt between Kyle's slightly parted legs and his other hand is creeping over his stomach, petting and sifting easily.

"Perfectly." He answers, gaining another kiss, this time on the exposed skin between the top of his pants and his bunched shirt. A sigh escapes my lips, quivery with need.

Kyle curls his legs up and stands when the bell signaling the end of lunch sounds. He reaches down and helps Stan up, then reaches out one for me.

"Come on, dude, we need to get to class."

I accept his offer and allow him to help me up, but there's no way in hell I'm going to class right now.

I'm in desperate need of a bathroom.

--------------------------------

I'm feeling particularly light hearted by the time school lets out. Maybe all this bottled emotion I've been harboring was nothing more than the huge load I shot in the bathroom. That stuff can really mess with your head, and it _has _been a while since I had a release. Now that I have I'm not so antsy.

I have my buddies to thank for that. My pals. My friends. My Stan and Kyle. They're awesome guys. They really are. Now if only I could interest them in a threesome, we might really get a bond going here. If watching them gets me that hot, I can only imagine what being a part of it would be like.

I toss my book sloppily into my locker and slam it shut, more than eager to join Kyle at his, where Stan is already chatting to him eagerly. I can't hear what he's saying, but he keeps going on and on, and Kyle is simply smiling, digging through his book bag.

"… All you would have to do is pretend to fall asleep and then they'll let you stay over. Hey, Kenny." He pauses long enough to greet me and then continues. "Just keep yawning and mention how you haven't been sleeping good because you've been studying for a test. That way, your mom won't insist on waking you up and making you go home."

"What's going on?" I ask.

"Stan's trying to figure out a way to ravish me tonight." Kyle explains.

"Yeah." He agrees.

Their eyes are locked on one another, transfixed as if by a spell. There's excitement, anticipation, lust, desire, passion, and affection flickering, burning, lingering between them. I wonder if the only thing keeping them from literally attacking each other is the fact that they're in a public setting and surrounded by peers. I know they would be all over each other if they were in a more private setting. But I wonder, would they go at it if I were there with them? They didn't seem to have any trouble displaying affection in front of me earlier. Even more importantly, if I was in a more personal place with them, would they allow me to join in?

My pulse quickens at the thought. They had both already mentioned their "love" for one another, so most likely I doubt my fantasy will come true. Then again, what is love? Affection you feel for another person mixed with the incredible sensation of lust. That's all, right? It's not hard for me to blind unsuspecting victims with pleasures of the flesh. Maybe I do have a chance. There's only one way to find out.

"Can I come?"

Their stare on one another breaks and they both look toward me, looking guilty somehow.

Stan is the first one to fill the silence.

"Normally, you could. Only Butters already is, and well-"

"Wait, Butters agreed to a threesome?" I ask, completely bewildered and just a wee bit jealous.

"What?"

"Dude!"

They shout, one right after the other.

"We're not gonna have a threesome!" Stan exclaims, a little too loudly for our present occupancy.

I blink, completely lost.

"We're talking about dinner." Kyle supplies with slight harshness, still a little shocked. "Stan's mom invited mine and Butters parents for dinner."

"I can't come?" I question, bad feelings starting to swell up inside me again. They always include me in everything. What happened that everyone wants to ditch me? "What, just because Butters is gonna be there?"

"I'm sorry, Kenny." Stan apologizes on behalf of his mom. "It just wouldn't be such a good idea."

My fingers ball up into fists. I feel like my stomachs being constricted with barb wire. "Your parents think I'm a piece of shit too, is that it?"

"No, no!" He waves his hands in defense.

"It's not my fucking fault I was born into that shit hole!"

"We know that, Kenny." Kyle sooths. "It's just that-"

"-Without the garbage, you wont have to worry about throwing it out when everyone gets sick of looking at it and starts complaining about the stench." I cut him off and finish for him.

"Whoa, dude, you really need to mellow out."

"No, Stan! I'm fucking sick of everyone treating me like some kind of Goddamn contagious criminal! Screw you guys, I'm going home!"

I hear them both calling after me as I march down the hall and out the building. But I don't even look back or slow my pace. I feel angry tears stinging at my eyes. But I don't cry, it isn't worth it. I don't have to be worthless anymore. I'm old enough now to do something about it. Butters thinks I could really go somewhere. Butters thinks I'm amazing.

More then I'm pissed, I'm determined. Determined to prove everyone wrong about me and prove Butters right. They think I don't hear them talking about me. Whispering to one another; _There's that McCormick kid. He's on his way to being a piss poor drunken bastard just like his old man._

I'm not like my father. Not in any shape, way or form. I refuse to lead my life the way he does his. I hate that I'm made out a failure by relation. Hate that they can't see me for me and only the background I come from and the home I live in. They're about to get the shock of their lives, that's for damn sure.

I shake loose from my musings when I reach my destination and look up at the sign above the door.

_Monkey Wrench._

South Parks one and only auto mechanic shop. I smile in pleasure and let myself in. The girl behind the counter looks like a genuine hooker, in my humble opinion. She makes the whole place smell like cheap perfume and cigarettes.

"Oh, hey cutie, can I help you with something?"

Her voice is vaguely familiar, and maybe her face, if I could get myself to look away from her generously exposed tits. I spot her nametag glare. Porschea.

That's it. The Raisins girl. My eyes finally shift to her blank and happy expression.

"Cute name." I compliment, automatically switching gears into flirt mode.

"Thanks, sweetie! I was named after a car and now I'm working for cars. Isn't that _so _weird? Oh my God! My dad had a Porsche when he was my age, but it was kidnapped and he never got it back. Do you think that's where he got my name from? I wonder why some people have the same name. Did you ever wonder that?"

"All the time." I cut in, leaning against the countertop and gazing at her seductively.

"Will you get Mike for me?" I ask for the owner.

"Sure, cutie." She answers.

I watch her ass as she disappears through the door to the garage. Her looks kind of remind me of Wendy. Dark hair, cute smile, nice body. But her eyes are brown. Wendy's are blue. Deep blue.

She reappears a moment later.

"He's busy right now. He says you can go around and meet him back there. What do you need him for anyway? Do you have a car? I'm not allowed to have one until I pass my drivers test."

I smile at her, even though she makes me want gash my eyes out. "No. I'm here for a job."

She gasps dramatically. "Oh my God, that would be _so _cool! I came here once looking for a job, too."

"You don't say." I reply dryly, then decide to play it along. After all, with a few right moves, she could be easily persuaded. "Did you get it?"

Her smiles widens. "Yes! Isn't that _so_ cool?"

"Extremely." I wink at her on the way out.

When I enter the garage I find Mike in a pissy mood. I don't really know him very well, but I know him enough to know this is his usual mood. His legs are sticking out from underneath a dark green tuna boat of a car and a greasy rag is thrown beside them.

"Hey, Mike."

He grunts in response, not even bothering to come up from underneath the hunk of metal.

"I need a job." I continue. "I'm willing to work hard, full time, any time."

"This is a small town, kid. I work alone. Don't need no more help."

Luckily, I expected this sort of bullshit, so I've come prepared. I pull a stool toward me and hop aboard it. "Mike, look, I _really _need a job."

"There ain't none here, son." He grumbles his reply in his thick redneck accent. "Try over at the gasoline station."

"Fuck that." I argue. "I don't want to sit behind a counter selling soft drinks and packets of energy pills. I want to work for my paycheck. I'm good with my hands and I think I could make something of myself here."

"I appreciate your interest in my business, but there just aint no need for another mechanic here." He disagrees. "Besides, there's classes and things you gotta take. I can't just hire someone that walks in here all willy nilly."

"I really think you could use my help. You're up to your balls in work all the time. Everyone's always complaining that you take too long." I insist.

Mike rolls out from underneath the car and grabs the greasy rag, rubbing it between his oily fingers. "The little women has been complaining I'm not home much." He sighs, scratching his black- splotched forehead. He stands, paces the garage, tosses the rag to the floor.

"I'll tell you what. That there car needs an oil change," He points to a silvery compact. "Do it right and do it quick, and you got yourself a job."

I feel a rush of energy shoot through my entire body. The kind of excitement that has nothing to do with sex. It's all adrenalin. I pull off my parka and set it safely aside, then immediately get to work. It doesn't take me long to complete my task and wander back over to Mike to let him know.

He looks puzzled when he glances up at the Budweiser clock. "Done already?"

I nod.

"Let's take a look."

He inspects my work thoroughly. For a minute I'm afraid I didn't do something right, but finally he smiles. "Well that's fine, boy. That's mighty fine. You start tomorrow."

The happiness that engulfs me feels foreign, and the smile permanent. I've just completed my the first step to my new life. A happier one, a dinner filled one.

And one that includes Butters.

* * *

_-BratChild3 (Lisha)_


	6. Angel Rain and Brownies

**Authors Note: **Kitten- Nah, this _is _Kenny/Butters. Wendy won't stand in the way of that. :)

Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

**Chapter 6- Angel Rain and Brownies.**

"Well the world turns, and a hungry little boy with a runny nose plays in the street as the cold wind blows. In the ghetto. _In the ghetto._"

"Cartman,"

"And his hunger burns, so he starts to roam the streets at night, and he learns how to steal, and he learns how to fight, in the ghetto. _In the ghetto."_

"Cartman!"

"What?"

He asks this innocently. Like he doesn't realize how goddamn annoying he is, or how offensive. Even if he did, I know he wouldn't care. The bastard is still humming.

"Why do you always have to sing that when you hang out with me?"

"I don't know. Cause you're Kenny."

"So?"

He scoffs. "So, you're _poor_, Kenny. You're poor and you're a little ghetto baby that was born on a cold and gray Chicago morning."

"We live in Colorado!"

"I'm sure it was cold and gray in Chicago, too!" He shouts. "Besides, it doesn't matter, cause you're still poor."

I stop and turn to face him, where he was traveling behind me, and kick him hard, swift, and powerfully.

"Son of a bitch! I hate you, Kenny!"

I don't know why I brought him with me. Even more importantly, I don't know why he agreed to come. Cartman is like a fly. No one honestly enjoys his company, but he's always around. He annoys the hell out of everyone constantly, but eventually you've just got to get used to him being there. I think if anyone swatted him dead, they'd feel bad. So he remains. A friend that isn't a friend. And the only friend I'm talking to.

Six weeks have come and gone that I haven't spoken to Stan, Kyle, Butters or Wendy. In fact, I haven't talked to anyone. I know they're all looking at me, and I know they're talking. But I don't care. I don't have time to care anymore. Work sucks up most of my free time. But it makes me feel good, proud, accomplished. Like my grades that skyrocketed since I have nothing better to do then pay attention in class. Stan apologized numerous times in numerous ways. Kyle tried to give me a "heart to heart" about why I was so pissed off. I shrugged both of them off. It would have meant more to me if _they _had actually done something to piss me off, like Butters had.

The less than first class buildings continue passing me by slowly as I begin moving forward again. Cartman follows suit, grumbling his hate for me even though he stays in perfect pace with my strides.

"Where is it anyway? I don't have all god damn day, you know!" He explodes.

"Just past this bar." I answer, nodding my chin toward an old building we pass with a neon sign shaped like a cactus.

"Oh, how perfect, the drunken bastards kid is going to conveniently live next to a bar. Planning on taking up the family business then?"

"Now that does it!" Stopping in front of a butter yellow apartment building, I whirl on him for the second time, pulling him up against me by the shirt with one hand and pointing a finger square at his nose. "I've had enough of your bullshit! Either shut the fuck up or piss off! I don't need you, anyway!"

He blinks at me, then in complete seriousness says, "Whoa, Kenny, is that alcohol on your breath? Oh, wait, that's just the smell of your fermented breath from being so poor you can't even afford a toothbrush for eighty six cents."

I shove him away from me sadistically just as the door creeks open and a male voice sounds out.

"Mr. McKormick, Good of you to come."

Cartman and I turn our attention toward the source of pleasantness to observe a middle aged man in a green and yellow plaid shirt.

"Who the hell is this asshole?" Cartman utters, not at all concerned with the balding man's feelings or trying to conceal his opinion in any way. Luckily the man has a good sense of humor and laughs at this candid insult.

"Unfortunately the manager of the place, Mrs. Mandred, is ill today, so I've taken it upon myself to show you around the apartment. Name's Will Luvcox. "

"Will Luvcox?" Cartman cries in complete amusement. "Ha! Hahaha-"

I elbow him in his plush, cushy waist.

"Aye!" He protests.

"Follow me right this way and I'll show you to the empty apartment. I've been given specific rules, if you like it, it's yours."

Cartman and I glare at each other.

"Dude, be cool, Cartman." I warn as I march off behind Will Luvcox.

"Meh, meh meh , meh meh." He mimics me in a whinny, girly voice. God, He's such a fucking baby.

Will Luvcox continues to babble on and on, but I'm not even listening to him. I can see everything myself. The building inside is like a small hotel. It even has a lobby when you first walk in, but I doubt I'll ever use it.

"Oh my God, it's a hippie hideout." Cartman remarks, and I can't help but laugh. In truth, it looks like someone who can't let go of the 60's decorated it. "Kenny, don't drink the tap water, alright? Seriouslah."

"…And just over here is the elevator." Will's incoherent chatter finally penetrates my mind. He presses the button on the wall and the metal doors slide open creakily.

I watch him as he steps in and then look at Cartman, who shrugs before joining him. But I don't hop aboard quite so readily. I've dealt with death enough times to learn how to read the signs of the Grim Reaper approaching. They're all around us, just like that movie _Final Destination._ I promptly scan the interior condition of the transport box, eye the ceiling for anything sharp, loose or broken, step a foot inside and bounce to test the sound.

"Get your white trash, poor ass in, Kenny! I gotta get home before dinner, Mom made pie!"

My eyebrows furrow, but I comply, resisting the urge to flip him off as I enter. The last thing I want to do is give this guy --who obviously knows the manager of the building-- a bad first impression of me. I can feel my heart pounding in my ears louder with each creak the elevator makes as we move to the third story; the very top. The lights flicker before it comes to a stop, but the doors don't open.

"You're lucky," Will tells me, and I hope to God he's right. I want the fuck out of this god damn thing _now _or I'm going to get totally mental on his ass. "To have the opportunity to have a place on top. You don't have to worry about bathroom floods or pounding coming from the ceiling."

I practically leap out when the doors whoosh open again.

"Once Kenny moves in, there's gonna be banging all night long. He screws more than a god damn rabbit." Cartman comments easily, gaining yet another laugh from Will.

"Well, I'm sure the neighbors wont mind hearing that. Most of them are young and single." He elbows me in a buddy way. I inch away from him and rub my Luvcox infected skin. Luckily, his cell phone rings, and like any other person living in the twenty first century, he snatches it up. "Excuse me a moment gentlemen, you can go right on inside and look around. I'll join you shortly."

He gestures toward apartment 30f. Cartman and I waste no time in barging in. The first thing I notice is how roomy it is. The first thing fat ass notices is the fly that buzzes passed and lands on his nose.

"What a shit hole."

I don't even pay attention to any of his expected remarks as I roam the living room, kitchen, bathroom and its one bedroom. It's not the fanciest place in South Park, but it's clean, spacious and most importantly; feels like home.

"It's a hookers paradise in here, Kenny, lets go."

I turn from the bedroom window I had been peering out to face him. His eyes tour the room, floor to ceiling. "I thought I _was_ a hooker." I state.

"No, you're a bisexual slut." He revises, fueling my anger without much notice.

"I like it here." I insist. "Maybe it's not five stars, but it's clean. Some of us aren't lucky enough to have moms that whore themselves out so we can have a nice house and everything we want, like yours."

"If you call my mom a whore one more time, Kenny, I'll kick you square in the balls!"

I snicker and break into muffled song, unable to contain myself. He left himself wide open for it. "Well, Cartman's moms a whore, she's a big fat whore, she's the biggest whore in the whole wide world-"

He shouts something indistinguishable and charges toward me, but it's my knee that connects smoothly with his nuts. Not hard enough to cause too much pain, but he still keels over from the blow, him being the indisputable pussy he is.

"_Ah, goddamnit, son of a bitch! Those were my nuts, you fucking asshole!"_

The chuckles wafting from my covered mouth are cut short when Will joins us again. "So, what do you think, Gentlemen?" He frowns when he looks at the still sputtering Cartman.

"Where do I sign?" I ask cheerily.

The mans face lights up immediately. "We have a taker, great! Follow me to the managers office and we'll go over the lease." He glances at Cartman again.

"_God… I hate… you… Kenny,"_

"Is your friend going to be okay?"

"He'll be fine as soon as he gets something to eat." I assure. Food is always the key ingredient to revive a fat ass.

"Brownies-" He moans.

I laugh again and help pull him to a standing position. "I promise I'll make you some as soon as I'm moved in."

He brightens immediately. It's the least I can do, after all, he did make the effort to get off his couch on a Saturday just to come along with me.

Sometimes Cartman's really not so bad.

* * *

I can't remember the last time it rained in South Park. I think I might have been fourteen. No one knows for sure. Mostly because the weather people are complete imbeciles like every other person in this hick town, and none of the other citizens knew the last rain would be the last rain, therefore they never thought to remember a date.

I remember my mom using rain to try and make me feel badly when I had done something wrong. She would be bitching at me, shaking her finger at my nose as if that helped emphasize her point, and if it were raining she would say, in that poor, scratchy throat of hers; "See there, Kenny? Look at that. You've gone and made the angels cry. Now don't you feel just awful?"

I laughed the first time she said it. The idea was completely stupid. That's the first time her palm cracked across my face. I was frightened by that, heart broken. She always beat on my dad, because he was a drunken bastard, but she had never done anything to harm me before. I was nine, but I remember my eyes welling up with tears and crying like I were three. And I remember her holding me as if I were three. I had never felt that safe before, and will never feel as safe as I did in her arms. Mothers were just that way. I remember telling Stan about that, because I knew he wouldn't make fun of me. He said he felt the same way. There's no one else in the world better than a mother. She cradled me close all night, telling me she was sorry and she would never do that again.

She never did, and in a way I was sad. If beating me was the way to get her to show affection, I would take it. That's when I started doing things wrong on purpose.

I thought a lot about the rain after that day. I decided that the idea of angels crying wasn't so stupid after all. Maybe they really were sad. Maybe they cried for people in their time of need. But I couldn't imagine them crying for me.

I look away from the darkness of my frosted window and the sound of the rain coming down in heavy streams and pattering against the earth and my windowpane. There's a serenity about my warm room, with all three of my very best friends strewn across the carpet in their individual sleeping bags; Red, blue and green.

Somehow the red doesn't find it odd that the green and the blue are peculiarly close to one another. On the other hand, I'm the one who finds anything at all absurd about it. How can Stan and Kyle stand to sleep so close, yet so far away? Granted, they are face to face, breathing each others breath. Maybe somehow that's enough for them.

I smile at them now, thankful for their friendship and all previous hurt feelings forgiven and forgotten. It's my first night in my new apartment, and they had both helped me move in. Cartman attended, though I hardly consider standing around insulting Jews and poor people as helping. Afterward, he was particularly pleasant, even going so far as thanking me for making the brownies I treated us to once we were finished. They don't have to know it wasn't me who made them, but my mom as a moving away, house warming gift.

"I thought you were asleep." Stan's whisper lingers through the atmosphere, light and sleepily, but it isn't directed at me.

"I was," Kyle assures, his voice just as soft. "You're so restless it woke me up. What's the matter?"

Silence emits, swirling loudly through my head. I can make out their figures amidst the thickness of bedspreads and dimness, they don't seem to be communicating at all.

"Dude, you've got to stop worrying about it." Kyle finally demands, though it comes with more empathy laced within.

"I can't. It's like I've got this knife in my stomach that someone keeps turning in circles. Besides, you were just as worried."

"It's over, and it was nothing."

"It's not going to be nothing forever!"

"Shh! You'll wake the fat ass." Kyle's hiss makes me laugh, but I have enough control to keep it mute. There's a pause. "…Stan-"

"Just forget it." He condemns, his tone final and curt.

"Stan," Kyle tries again, his voice so sensitive I feel a shiver creep down my neck. He shifts closer, drawing his palm and fingers over Stan's face. Is he wiping tears away? I'm not certain. Stan's done his share of crying, but he's not prone to it. Although I wouldn't underestimate his emotions when it comes to Kyle. "I know how you feel. I was just doing this last week, you know that."

"I was going crazy, Kyle. I couldn't-"

"It's okay."

What the hell are they talking about? The same thing that was making Kyle act like such a bitch?

I can't hear it, but I can see their silhouettes; Kyle rolling over and leaning against Stan, their lips meeting and holding for endless minutes. The imagine makes me think of Wendy, and I'm suddenly drowning in the depths of my pathetic need for her.

"Lets just be happy for Kenny right now." I hear Kyle again. He's still leaning over Stan. "This is a nice place."

"He deserves it. He worked really hard to prove himself." Stan agrees, and I feel like I might squeal any moment. I'm literally beaming with delight. God, I love those guys.

"You're still my super best friend." Kyle promises.

"You're still my super best friend too, Kyle."

He kisses Stan's forehead and slides back into his own sleeping bag. It doesn't take any longer then maybe ten or fifteen minutes before their breathing deepens as they join Cartman in dreamland. The same relaxation doesn't find it's way to me. The thought of Wendy is still beckoning. She'll reject me again, as she has every night I've tried this, but I can't help myself. This feeling wont go away.

Air puffs from my blanket and into my eyes as I flip it over and off myself. One of my feet finds the carpet, then the other. I slide myself off my bed and watch the sleeping figures of my three friends as I plunge delicately into my shoes. Cartman is an even bigger asshole if he's woken up then he is if he's already awake. I don't intend on losing my balls anytime soon, especially not by Cartman ripping them off with his bare hands, so I choose instead to find my way to the door by taking the path between Stan and Kyle. My creeping comes to a hasty stop, and I nearly topple forward from the suddenness. Their hands are linked together, resting directly in my path and I nearly just crushed them, which would have sent me straight to the ground with a thud and emitted loud yelps from the both of them. Luckily, my body is well quipped with good brakes. I get that from my mom's side. I'll have to thank her later.

For now, I step over Kyle and Stan's simple display of oneness and I'm out of my apartment without anymore problems. Or so it would seem that way until I actually do trip over something in my doorway. As expected, my face breaks the fall and thankfully not my skull. I eye the small box that disturbed my steps and pull it into my lap. There's an index card stapled to the top.

_So you won't ever feel lonely._

_-Butters._

Now I'm intrigued. There isn't any sign of him still hanging around, so I turn my attention back to it and peel the tape holding the lid on the box off. It looks like a shoe box, and I think maybe it is. For some reason, the plain paper he decorated himself and took the time to glue around the boxes edges touches me. No one's ever spent that much time on me before, The lid pries off easily, and inside is a stuffed, pink pig. I pull it out, smiling despite myself. It's wide and flat, almost like a pillow, and the face is cute-- like a cartoon. My first instinct is to bring it to my nose and inhale, wondering if I could get a hint of his scent. It only smells like the material it's made out of.

I squeezed it in my arms, place it back in it's box with the lid on top and push it gently inside my door. Shoving myself back to an upright position, I continue on my way down the hall, the stairs, and through the lobby. The door to the outside world feels heavy and forbidden as I push it open and step out into the drizzle of rain. I spread my arms wide, close my eyes and turn my face toward the heavens.

The feel of rain is enchanting. The safety of my parka protects me from it, but I have no need for protection at night, when it's dark and no one can see me. The drops drip and roll across the exposed skin of my face, neck and arms, tickling the flesh made overly sensitive from all the years of going untouched by anything other than my own hand and the fluff of my jacket. The unfamiliar stimulation is almost too much. I shiver at the sensation and breath deeper the crisp air. The smell of wet earth fills my head.

My eyes open in time to see a blonde figure standing in the near distance watching me. It turns and descends down the sidewalk seconds after I notice it.

"Butters?" I ask myself, and then shout as I break into a run. "Butters!"

I outstretch my arm and almost touch the back of his shirt, but he begins running himself to stay out of my reach. It's going to take a lot more than that to stop me. I leap forward and successfully tackle him to the ground.

"Let me go!" He screams.

But I have other ideas. This has been driving me insane for months. Butters parents are pretty harsh, but I don't think they would ever physically harm him. Over the passed several months I've started to wonder. How do they keep him so in control? Most kids and especially teens verbally abuse their parents right back. They must use a stronger force of discipline, and if they're hurting him, so help me God I will intervene in a less than sane way. I hold one of his hands above his head, pinning it to the ground and yanking the sleeve of his shirt up and revealing identical little bruises all over the baby soft skin.

"No, Kenny, don't!" He struggles manically against me, but I'm somehow able to get his other arm up and look over that one as well. It isn't any less battered.

"What the hell is this?"

"I-it don't matter none-"

"Bullshit! How the hell did you get these? Did your dad do this shit to you?"

"No!"

"Butters!" I rave. "Jesus Christ! I'll fucking kill him! I'll kill him!"

"No, Kenny! It was me! I-I did it to myself!"

Confession is the way to all things, and his buys him his freedom. My hold on him relaxes and he scrambles out from under me, but surprisingly doesn't run away. Instead, he plops down beside me on the splashy sidewalk.

Dumbfounded, I sit back on my knees and blink at him through my dripping bangs.

"Why would you do that to yourself?"

He looks down, smashing his knuckles together and bites his lower lip. I snatch his hands up, holding them tight and forcing him to look back up at me.

"Because I'm a no good, stinkin' friend." He divulges, sounding incredibly regretful and ashamed. "I-I'm suppose ta listen to my- my parents, but I didn't cause I like ta hang out with you. But then I feel even worse for ignoring you. You've always been such a good friend ta me, Kenny, an I just cut you off. I was awful sorry I had ta do it. So I- I hurt myself cause I had ta hurt you."

The blue-gray of his eyes connects again with the slick colors of the sidewalk, the rainwater reflecting the surrounding lights of the buildings around us. I don't even have to think about it. My arms encircle him, pull him against my body. My forehead finds appeasement between his neck and shoulder, I breathe in his scent, my hand finding his arm and smoothing over his tormented skin.

"Stay with me tonight."

"Well, heck, I don't-"

"Come on," I implore. It doesn't take a lot of effort to stand and pull him up with me. "Lets get out of these clothes and put on something dry, I'm getting really cold."

He holds my hand all the way through the building and up to my room. Or maybe it's me that's holding his. Maybe it doesn't even matter, because for the moment I'm not plagued with thoughts about Wendy.

In my room, we quietly remove our soggy clothing and replace them with dry boxers and t-shirts. I crawl back into bed. Butters hesitates.

"Well, where the heck am I 'spose-"

"Shh!" I command, motioning him over with a flick of my wrist. "You can sleep in bed with me." I flip the covers down and scoot over to make room for him. The heat of his body feels good as he eases into the covers. When we're both settled and covered, I notice he's smiling, looking upward and clanking his knuckles together. He looks like he wants to say something, or burst out laughing.

"What?"

"Huh? Oh… n-nothin." he smiles.

"No, what?" I repeat.

I don't know what I expected him to say. Some stupid ass remark about me being a fag for crawling into bed with him like Cartman would, or something completely irrelevant to reality. Whatever I expected, it wasn't what he said.

"Well, it's juh-just that I've never seen you without your- your hood before."

I stare at him while he continues to rub his hands together and smile, eyes kept cast up and away from me.

"You've seen me a few times."

"Yeah." He agrees. "But only for a- a second or two. Never long enough ta actually see you."

I finally smile back and twist a little closer toward him. He may not be Wendy, but I adore the kid like crazy. The sound of the rain lulls me easily to sleep, and for once I don't dream about my dark haired desire.

* * *

_-BratChild3 (Lisha)_


	7. Loud Love

**Chapter 7- Loud Love.**

Winter crept in with the rain that night and South park was covered with a thin blanket of snow the following morning.

I wake up to an empty room. No Butters beside me, and the red, blue and green devoid of their recent occupants. I sit up with a yawn and blink my blurry eyes clear of sleep to better see the light flakes brushing past my window. Slow, lightly. The way I remember it the time me and Wendy necked outside her house in the early hours of the night. The frozen raindrops clung to her hair and eyelashes, the white a stark contrast against the dark. I had offered to walk her home that night, the why or where isn't important. I held her hand, she allowed it, and as we advanced into her yard I spun her into me, clinging her body tight against mine, and she threw her head back, laughing at my silly flirtations. She didn't realize the flirtations weren't silly anymore, because it was about that time I had started falling for her; Fast, deep, and desperately. When she looked at me again our eyes locked. Both of us still smiling, we leaned in and shared our first kiss, snow drifting all around us.

It flutters about in similar patterns now, mockingly. I glare at it, grabbing my new parka --still orange in color-- and slip it on, sure to pull the drawstrings tight around my face. Adverse to last night, I plow directly across the vacant sleeping bags and out my bedroom door.

Cartman's made himself at home, cuddled into my couch, the TV on and a half a PopTart in his hand. He has the phone pressed to his ear and an irritated expression on his face.

"Yeah? Well screw you, too!" He slams the receiver down, stuffs most of the remainder of his treat into his mouth and mutters to himself. "God damn hippie."

"Who was on the phone?" I question.

"The second biggest bitch in the world," He answers, gaze focused bitterly on the screen.

I swallow the swig of milk I took and peer at him over the door of the refrigerator, carton still in hand. "Wendy called?"

Cartman rolls his eyes. "No, _I_ called _her_. Nothing gets me going in the morning like a third degree bitching from a fucking hoe."

There's a pause as I stare at him, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and put the milk away. "What'd she say?"

"I don't know. All I heard was 'nag nag nag, bitch bitch bitch'."

"Cartman!"

"Alright! She wanted to talk to you, but I told her you couldn't answer the phone because you were too busy fucking the hooker you bought last night."

Shock courses my body, giving way to anger a moment later. "God damnit, Cartman, you fat fucking piece of shit!"

He glowers and watches me rip the phone off the charger and dial her number with easy familiarity. "Why do you want to talk to her so bad anyway?"

"None of your god damn business."

"Oh, yeah!" He screams, now blinded by his fury and blatant jealousy. "Well, screw you, too!"

I plug my unoccupied ear with my index finger to drown out his insults, narrowly dodging the remote he launches at me.

"Hello-" Wendy's voice hums into my ear.

"Baby girl!" I exclaim at the sound.

"I'm unable to answer the phone right now. Leave a message and I'll call you back… _unless you're Cartman!" _

Fragments of the disappointed frown I conjured up when I realized I had gotten the God damn machine again linger even after I hear the "beep".

"Hey, Wendy, It's Kenny, I don't know what kind of stupid, asshole things fat ass said to you today, but whatever it was just forget it. He's fat and he's stupid and nobody likes him-"

"Aye!" He protests.

"- Gimme a call when you can." I click the phone off and toss it lightly in the general direction of the dark green recliner chair and present Cartman with a question before he has time to get pissy. "Where's Butters?"

"Home."

"Why?"

"Cause he's a faggot."

"_Why?"_

"Jesus Christ, I don't know! He was gone when I woke up. Kahl said he went home."

Oh yeah. My mind was so preoccupied with Wendy and then Butters immediately after, that I had completely forgotten the two love birds. How could I?

"Where are they?"

He tosses his hand lazily in the direction of the balcony without a word. The instant I look through the fogged glass and out onto the small white patio that was the two best friends reality at the moment, I become transfixed.

They're laughing merrily, chucking tiny snow balls at each other as the white fluff dances around them in soft movements. It's like looking at a picture, a masterpiece of a painting. The world behind them is black and white, compliments of the winter weather snow-capping the mountains, tree's and buildings. The only existing color seems to be them themselves. It's amazing.

Even more then that is when their playfulness subsides and their gazes melt into one another. Leaning their sides against the railing, their hands find each other in secret, binding their fingers. It's a picture worth a thousand words, and something I know I'll never forget, the moment I'll always remember them as. They are right now the way they should be, the way they were meant to be; Together.

I swallow thickly, catch myself staring and set myself in motion. The image before me becomes even more tranquil the closer I get. I'm afraid to ruin it and take a second to consider whether I really had that right, but Kyle spots me an instant too soon and motions me into their snow globe illusion, the smile set sincerely on his face. The smile I send back seems fake somehow, but I take its plastic and the emotion welled in my chest and open the sliding door.

"For God's sake, shut that door, damnit, it's cold!" Cartman's ill flavored voice shatters Kyle's beautiful peace. Both him and Stan frown in irritation as I close the door roughly behind me, sending a ribbon of snow splattering wetly from the rooftop.

"Cover us…" Stan commands pleasantly, and I can already see his arms begin to coil around Kyle's waist.

I nod, glancing back at Cartman --who's still absorbed in television-- and adjust myself to obstruct his view should he happen to look over. By the time I face Stan again, he has successfully pulled Kyle as tightly as possible against himself. His lips connect not fiercely with Kyle's mouth like I had first expected, but gently, hungrily with the side of his neck.

Kyle makes the perfect victim, easily melting to Stan's will by arching against him. His eyes close as the suction of Stan's mouth plays over his skin, and his lips part slightly to expel long exhales. He looks helplessly entranced by some sort of sexual spell, and I can't say for one minute that I blame him. On several accounts I've witnessed Stan's favorite form of play; He loves to tease Kyle mercilessly in just the right way and pace to drive his lover slowly but deeply into such great heights of arousal he's practically delirious with lust. I don't have the privilege of witnessing anything too graphic, unfortunately, but I suspect that Kyle's short temper and lack of patience eventually comes into play during Stan's oh-so-sweet torture and he probably attacks when he can't take anymore.

Not even realizing I've completely spaced into oblivion, the sound of Stan's pleasant grunt knocks me back into the here and now. The sight in front of me alone is enough to make me laugh. Just as I anticipated, Kyle slammed Stan back against the railing of the balcony, going at him as if the world wouldn't last another second.

He pushes himself away suddenly, panting heavily, and covers his eyes with his hand as if he had a sick headache. "God damnit, Stan…"

Stan, hat falling off and hair rumpled, looks nothing short of thrilled at Kyle's reaction and lack of self control.

"Holy shit, dude," I exclaim. "How long has it been since you really got some?"

Stan's smile falters, and they both stare at me, then glace at each other with guilt.

"What?" I question.

"… Well, we haven't actually-" Kyle starts choppily, only to purse his lips.

My eyes shift back and forth, a little more then surprised at this information. "You mean you two haven't screwed each other yet?"

"It's not that we haven't- played around." Stan corrects.

"Oh, I know that much," I assure. "… Why haven't-"

"Because." Stan hurries.

I pause, wondering why the hell they seem so uptight about it. "Don't you want to?"

The bright red human formally known as Stan keeps his eyes on his shoes as he nods.

"So what the hell's the problem?"

"Stan's a moaner." Kyle fesses up, pointing at his embarrassed partner.

"Kyle! How could you?" He lectures.

"Shit, dude, it's only Kenny."

"Yeah, it's only Kenny." I echo the Jew. "But I still don't understand."

For being the half of the pair that didn't want to share their relationship with anyone, Kyle sure has loosened up and come a long way, at least with me. Without so much as a pause for thought, he delves head first into the matter.

"We don't have a lot of time to be alone, and when we are we have to be quiet." He explains. "I know how to choke myself back to keep from yelling out, but Stan doesn't."

My eyebrows raise to high arches as I look to the ashamed boy. "You mean you _never _get to get off?"

"I didn't say that," Kyle snaps in defense of his ability to keep his lover satisfied. "The times when it's okay to make some noise, we never have long enough to actually… do that. I only have enough time to get him off real quick."

The rapid blinking of my eyes is a dead giveaway that I'm not only surprised, but feel sorry for them. Normally, I would only wish I could somehow help. This time there's actually something I can do about it.

"I know what you need," I decide, rubbing the chin of my parka thoughtfully. "You need a day completely to yourselves where you can be as loud as you want and no one will interrupt."

"Like that'll ever happen." Stan opinionates as Kyle snorts in sarcasm.

I smile wide and secretly, and they catch on to the slanted angle of my eyes. "You know where the bedroom is."

The two glance at one another, wanting to take the offer, but not yet biting the bait.

"We can't use your room." Stan declines.

"Sure you can," I counter, stepping between the two and putting an arm around each. Just a gentle pressure with my palms urges them forward with me. "I'll take Cartman out of here and the two of you can have the place all to yourself the whole afternoon." I take my hand off Kyle to open the sliding door and replace it again to shove them inside and in the direction of my bedroom. "You can even use the shower if you want. There's KY in the medicine cabinet."

Kyle stares unsurely at my unmade bed. "… I don't know-"

"I do." I cut in, giving them both a final shove. In the doorway, I place my hand to Stan's cheek. "Just give me a few minutes to get Cartman out of here before you start screaming lover boys name."

He blushes just slightly, but I can see Kyle behind him already smiling with desire blazing his eyes. I give a solute, then a wink and shut myself soundly out of the room.

I've got to get myself out of here before I start thinking too much about what's going to happen in my bed today, both for the sake of my pride and Cartman. The last thing I want to do is pitch a tent in his line of vision. I'd never live it down, not to mention wouldn't ever be able to look at him again. I may be a pervert, but I don't think I could just openly get hard around my friends, or any guy for that matter.

I realize, once I approach the slouching figure of Cartman, that he's dozing contentedly. It's weird how even the most vulgar of people can look so innocent when they sleep. I take a moment to absorb him in this state, then shrug. So much for the peace.

"Hey, fat ass," I give the side of the couch a hard kick, successfully waking him.

"Aye, what the hell?" He sputters, rubbing an eye like an infant would.

"We're gonna go see Wendy." I announce.

He breaks off mid-yawn, staring blankly and then clamps his jaw shut just as the phone sounds. I answer it automatically, elated when I realize Wendy is the caller.

"I'm sorry about Cartman earlier, I was still asleep."

"Mmm," She acknowledges.

The sound makes me squeeze my eyes closed. It's been so long since I've had her I feel like my insides are going to explode. Setting my protesting hormones aside, I try and wet my lips with a dry tongue as she continues.

"I was calling to see how you like your new place so far."

With one last hard squeeze, I force my eyelids apart. "I love it," I answer honestly. "Freedom tastes better than I expected." Her laugh tickles my ear, giggly and flirty. "Want to come over tonight? I can give you the grand tour."

"Oh," She hesitates, stopping my heart in wake of her answer. "I can't, I have a date tonight."

"A date?" I repeat, hoping with all hope I heard her wrong. Cartman's interest of the conversation perks up noticeably at the mere mention of this word, as would mine had I been the one listening to his one-sided phone call.

"Yeah," She confirms, officially sinking my heart into the pit of my acid-infested stomach.

"With who?" I manage to croak, though I cover my eyes with my hand painfully and fight the urge to puke.

"Well, with Kyle." She admits, somewhat carefully.

My hand moves up to cradle my forehead and my eyes pop open, staring blankly into nothingness. "Kyle _Broflovski?"_ I emphasize, more than certain I actually did hear wrong this time.

"That's the one," She clarifies with a slight laugh. "We've been out a few times the past few weeks. I thought he would have told you."

Not a word. How can this be possible? Kyle dating Wendy when I had just sent him into my room with his _boyfriend _so they could make love for the first time? Something doesn't add up here. Something isn't right. I've seen the way Kyle looks at Stan; like no one else in the world exists. Like no one else matters. He told me himself, though I think he may be jumping the gun, that he was completely in love. I've known him practically my entire life, and his morals are by far the strongest out of us all. He wouldn't do something like this. He _couldn't. _I wonder if Stan has any idea at all…

"But, I'd love to come see your new place some other time," Wendy assures sweetly. "Right now I've got to get going, I have some things I need to do. Bye, Kenny."

The phone stays pressed to my ear long enough to hear the dial tone buzz longer than what may be healthy. I finally click off my own and let my hand fall to my side, eyes still vacant.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Cartman grunts, but I'm too… distraught to answer him right away. "Kenny? Kenny!"

"She has a date," I confirm.

"_What?" _He roars.

I nod, finally looking at him.

"Over my cold, dead, rotted, worm-eaten body!" He bellows.

I've never seen him get up so fast in his life. Not even for food. He buttons his coat in all the wrong holes for lack of will or lack of patience, and opens the front door with all the strength of the Incredible Hulk. With a point of his index finger, he promises me one thing, "I'll kill whoever it is." And then the door smashes closed.

It's a known fact that Wendy is Cartman's weakness. Ever since he had the privilege of being her boyfriend for an entire four months, he thinks he owns her. No matter what he says, he's never gotten over it, and I'll be surprised if he ever does. He cried for weeks after she called it off, though he would never admit it.

This was before I ever became entangled in a love affair with her. If Cartman knew what had gone on between us, especially considering I took her virginity, I don't know what would happen. I'm afraid to even consider the possibilities.

I spend the rest of my afternoon listening to Stan and Kyle alternate between screaming out their pleasure and moaning soft and passionately. I masturbate like crazy, enough though in the back of my mind I can't help but wonder if it's Wendy's name Kyle will be crying out tonight.

* * *

_-BratChild3 (Lisha)_


	8. Azivah

**Authors Note: **Previously, I had 108 reviewsby thischapter. That's really- depressing. Anyway, this is the last chapter I had posted and a brand new one will be up tommorrow. I _hope _to get more reviews to the new ones. Like I said, I know you lurkers are there, I see you on my stats. :P

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**Chapter 8- Azivah.**

"Kenny? Kenny, dude, wake up."

The pattering sound of rain is the second thing I hear, and Stan's face the first thing I see. He looks sleepy, I notice, but content and relaxed. Dark strands of messy hair fall over his dreamy bedroom eyes, adding to his overall look of sex afterglow. His smile is soft as he stands to his full capacity from leaning into my face.

"Hey," My voice is husky with sleep, not to mention dry from all the heavy breathing I'd done recently. I sit up, finding myself in the dark green recliner chair, and wipe the bit of drool off the side of my mouth. "What time is it?"

"Almost six- thirty. You've been out cold for a while now. You alright?"

He scratches his thigh, drawing my attention down the length of his body. Light blue boxers and a plain white T-shirt is all he's managed to cover himself with. I wonder if they're Kyle's.

"Kenny?"

I look up from the waistband of his underwear and manage a nod. "Where's Kyle?"

"Sleeping," He grins affectionately and falls back onto the couch.

When someone smiles, especially that adorably, it's damn near impossible not smile back, and so I catch on, returning it. I notice now that he hasn't bothered to turn on any lights, even though the daylight has officially faded to blackness. This is my chance, as good as time as any, if not better considering I can't see him all too clear, to let the cat out of the bag and find out whether or not he knows about Kyle and Wendy. How to approach the subject is a different matter entirely. How do you go about something like that? Easing into it slowly and prying for questions first is the best route to take, that way I can figure out what he already knows without blurting anything else out.

"Stan, do you know Kyle's dating Wendy?"

So much for easing into it.

His smile, precious with gentleness from his loss of innocence, vanishes entirely. Heartache as pure and deep as the Caribbean cloud the surface of his eyes. The corners of his mouth crease downward and he looks to the floor, successfully shielding his eyes with a curtain of fringy, dark lashes. I see that he swallows very carefully as he nods, then stands and turns away from me.

I watch him through the darkness and silence, giving him a moment to absorb his thoughts, a moment for me to. I expect him to launch into some sort of explanation so I could better understand the unusual state of things, but he doesn't. With his back toward me, he places one hand to his forehead, the other across his waist.

I'm beginning to think I should leave it and him alone, but instead find I'm unable to let it go. Not that I'm a particularly nosey person, but generally concerned with the well-being of those close to me. I don't want him to hurt. With prudent movements, I stand from the chair and approach him from behind.

"Stan?" I place a hand on his shoulder and massage it gingerly. "Stan, what's going on?"

"Life." He replies, and the realization that he's on the brink of tears is evident in the way his voice cracks on the single word. "Kyle's mom-" He breaks off, giving a mirthless laugh as he pulls his hand from his forehead and wraps his arms tightly around his waist, almost identical to the way Kyle had weeks ago outside Whistlin' Pete's Pizza. "Kyle's mom spent a lot of time with Wendy the last couple of months. Both are active in the school,

everybody knows that, and they're both involved in planning the seminar coming up at the end of the month," He shakes his head, looking upward now and searching the ceiling with what I imagine are probably vacant eyes. "In a way, Wendy is a lot like Sheila. Feminists, active in what they stand for, and I guess she likes that. So, she started inviting Wendy over for dinner, or out with their family, and then Wendy _and _her parents. She has it in her head that Wendy is the perfect young lady for her son and is doing everything she can to set them up."

That makes sense. It makes perfect sense, but there's things that can be done about it. "Why doesn't he just tell her he's not interested in Wendy?"

"He tried that," Stan informs me. "His mom insisted he give her a chance. She doesn't even care he's known her since grade school." The clouds rip open further and the rain pours down even heavier than before. Stan turns around to look me in the eye, his filled with tears ready to break loose at the first blink. "God, Kenny, I'm not ready to lose him yet."

Losing him at all is ridiculous in my opinion. So they both have dicks. So what? What do their parents care about what their children do in bed? If it matters to them so much what hole their kids stick it in, I really think it's them that are wrong and have the problem, not the other way around. Stan and Kyle are such a part of each other it's almost impossible not to think of them as one unity. Separating them by any means is just… _wrong._

I wish I could persuade them both into believing they deserve that happiness with one another. They think now that it's hard, they don't know anything yet. They wont be able to commit themselves to other people and not go completely nuts. It simply is not an option. I just hope they figure that out before it's too late and one of them does something stupid. Unfortunately, it's nothing I can help, at least not at the moment. So I give Stan what he really needs- A hug.

I admit I'm a little taken off guard by the way he melts into my embrace with absolutely no resistance whatsoever, but the shock burns away with his warmth. His hot breath and tears hit my skin simultaneously as he mewls into my shoulder.

"You're alright Stan," I promise in a whisper. "It's gonna be okay,"

Even though I'm trying my best to comfort my friend in his time of need, I can't help but feel I'm being selfish about it. Not only am I holding him, he's also holding me. I miss that, so badly. And so I drown in the feeling of clinging arms and inhale him deeply. He smells like Kyle, sweat and cum. Like sex, musty love. And it smells heavenly.

"Hey, guys? I've got to go. I have to shower and change before-" Kyle and his words freeze the moment he spots us.

Stan pushes away from me, turning his back toward Kyle and wiping his eyes with his wrists.

My eyes connect with the emerald of Kyle's. He stares at me for a brief second before gazing past me toward his lover.

"Stan?"

"I'm fine, Kyle." Stan tries unconvincingly, sounding miserable and stuffy with tears.

With an air of calmness, Kyle doesn't even turn Stan to face him, but instead maneuvers himself around to stand in front of the blue-eyed youth and places his hands on his shoulders. He lowers his head a bit to look into Stan's downward facing eyes and lifts a hand to brush a tear off.

"So why are you crying?" He asks innocently enough.

Stan answers the question with nothing but a sniff. Kyle nods as if the sound of snorting back snot clears everything up entirely. In a gentle second, he envelops his boyfriend in his embrace, kissing along side his face. This somehow causes the ultimate break in Stan's dam of tears, making his shoulders shake with sobs as he presses his forehead into Kyle's shoulder. The Jew leans his cheek against the side of Stan's hair. His eyes close as he sways back and forth, a steady, subtle motion.

"We made love today for a reason," he whispers. "You know I love you, Stan."

"Please don't go." He chokes out in response, his face still burrowed in Kyle's dark green sweater.

Kyle pulls his arms up and places them on Stan's shoulders, pushing him away just slightly. The barely-taller boy lifts his head and allows his love to peer in his liquid eyes.

"I don't love her," Kyle emphasizes each word.

"She still has you."

"-But not my heart." He swears, sounding to mean every word. "_Never _my heart."

Can anyone possibly get any gayer? Seriously, what the hell happened to these two? This is not the Stan and Kyle I know and love. They were normal when I sent them into my room a few hours ago. If this is what love making does to you, I'll stick with sweaty, raunchy, no-strings-attached- sex any day. I really want to tell them what outrageously ridiculous pussies they're being. I would say Stan especially, but Kyle's just as bad for mollycoddling him. I ruffle my hair thoughtfully and take a step toward them.

"Dudes-"

"Nothing is going to happen between us. Not yet, but you know eventually we're going to have to find _girls._ We've talked about this." Kyle cuts me off, and I realize that I was completely retarded to ever think I could have broke their attention away from each other. So I sigh and shut my mouth as Kyle continues onward.

"Stan? Stan, look at me." His mouth forms a grim line, and he grabs hold of each side of Stan's face in attempt to force him to comply. But Stan keeps his eyes to the right in complete refusal.

"Damn it, Stan, look at me!" Kyle shouts, keeping his victims head study and moving his own face in front of Stan's vision.

"No!" He rebukes, slapping the Jews hands away and stepping back. "You lied to me, Kyle! You told me we would put off girls and be together through college! You promised me!"

"Stan, I-"

"-and here you are, running off to be with Wendy when this is suppose to be our day!" He points his finger in my general direction and gives it a few hard stabs. "Kenny gave us the opportunity we've been waiting for, possibly the only chance we'll ever get to just be together and not be afraid of our asshole parents getting in the way! But now _you're_ the asshole, Kyle, because you're the one messing it up for us!"

By this point Kyle's eyes were red and blurry, staring at Stan and breathing hard in attempt to keep the tears back. "Stan," he whispers. "Stan, I love you."

"But I don't love you! Not anymore!" He shouts. "Fuck you, Kyle! I wish you were dead!" And in an exact replay of Cartman that morning, he slams out the door, but not before turning and promising Kyle one thing, "I never wanna see you again!"

"_Stan!" _Kyle screams bloody murder as the door slams. He immediately sinks to the floor, covering his eyes.

It's silent as I crouch beside him. It turns out he's sobbing mutely, and the instant he runs low of air and sucks in a sharp breath, the following are loud, screaming sobs fit to break the finest of crystal glasses.

He's hurt, and he's heartbroken. I have no idea how it feels to be him. No idea at all. It hurt me a lot when things went wrong with Wendy, but it never made me shed tears as heart-wrenchingly as Kyle is at this moment.

Warily, I reach a hand out and stroke his neck. When he doesn't bite my fingers off for trying, I pull him against me and pet his air.

"Let it out, Ky." I hug him tightly against my chest and look up at the door.

And although Kyle's practically chocking on his own sadness, all I can do is stifle a laugh, because Stan stormed out of here-- in his underwear.

* * *

"Ohmigosh, that tickles _so _bad!"

"That's not the only thing I'll tickle." I reply sassily.

Porschea giggles at an alarmingly high pitch. I use this opportunity to catch her lips beneath mine and slip my tongue into her mouth.

"Mmm-" She moans hungrily into it, but silences after.

At last, I've found a way to shut her up that we can both enjoy. Getting bolder in my attempts, I slither one hand down her arm and give her ass a gentle slap. This is successful in getting her body closer against mine. A good sign. I dip my head and catch her earlobe between my teeth.

I hear and feel her let out a long, quivery breath. "I've never had anyone kiss my ear before," she states. "has anyone ever done it to you? It feels kinda of weird, but I also kind of like it. Omigosh! It's making my nipples _so _hard, I've never seen them this hard before. Have you ever seen anyone's get this hard?"

Holy shit, is this girl for real? I keep my hands firmly on her hips but pull back to look at her, just in time to watch her palms glide across her chest. I feel myself instantly grow harder. She peers up at me through thick lashes as her hands continue onward. Daring a move, I allow my hands to join hers. To my delight, hers fall away, permitting mine to do what they will.

"Do you want more?" I ask, and at her nod, I push her onto my bed and climb over her.

With my legs firmly on each side of her, I sit up, straddling her lap, and hastily pull my parka over my head. I toss it aside, where it finds it's resting place for the night somewhere on the beige carpet next to my dresser.

I'm so excited I'm afraid my body wont hold out long enough to even do anything. I haven't gotten any since I last had Wendy. _Months _ago. I knew all the endless flirting I had done with Porschea would ultimately pay off. How right I was. And all it cost me was a twenty dollar steak dinner and an offer to see my new place. Life is good. Life is delicious.

Her hair is spread across my pillow. Dark, shinny strands that feel like silk. Just like Wendy's. My Wendy. And just like that, it's her on my bed, staring at me with those eyes, smiling that smile. I close my eyes for a brief second, and I can even smell her. But the moment I reopen them, it's Porschea once again, and those blue eyes are brown. In any event, I lower myself onto her and nuzzle my face in her generous bosom, kissing and devouring, building us up until… the doorbell rings.

"Damnit!" I curse against her flesh, but pause only an instant before going onward, kissing and licking her stomach as I push up her shirt.

"Maybe- you should- get that," She pants heavily.

"If we don't answer, they'll get the hint and _go away!" _I shout the last two words in the direction of my bedroom door. The knock comes again.

"Son of a _bitch!"_ I squeak. With lightning speed, I dip off the bed and grab up my parka. "I'll be right back, don't go anywhere." I command my date as I head out the bedroom door, pulling my parka over my head. I pause at the threshold, tightening the strings on my hood with a swift tug before opening the door. "_What the hell do you-" _I shout, but cease immediately when I recognize an angry Butters with a bag slung over his shoulder.

"Hi," He greets bitterly, and immediately pushes into the apartment without even being invited in.

I blink, close the door and turn to follow him. "Butters, what are you-"

"I ran away from home and I'm moving in here." He decides, malice lacing the words. "We'll see just how- how those assholes like that!"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Butters lets his bag hit the floor with a soft thump and rolls up his shirt sleeves, revealing a frighteningly large area of forming bruises across his wrists. "T-they went too far this time. Oh boy, did they. They'll be sorry now, when they find I've gone missing."

"Your parents did this to you!" I scream, yanking up one of his arms to inspect the damage. "Bastards! Fucking bastards! What the hell happened?"

"They tied me up to my bed by- by ropes," he explains. "Cause they knew I was seein' you again. They got the idea from some movie or somthin'. I sure didn't like it much, Kenny. I had to use the bathroom real bad, a-and they wouldn't let me for a long- a real long time."

I swear, I'll kill them for hurting him. They're going to fucking pay for doing this to him. I swear by my own grave.

"S-so can I stay?" He looks at me pleadingly, and I sigh in understanding, trying to get a hold of my sexual frustration and anger.

"Yeah, Butters, of course you can stay."

He grabs his bag and heads for the bedroom. "Thanks, that's awful nice of y-"

"On the couch!" I literally leap in front of him to block the doorway. After all, I've still got Porschea in there and I still need to get laid. Badly.

Butters looks at me uncertainly, and almost hurt. "Well, how come I-I've gotta sleep on the couch, when last time-"

"This times different," I cut in. "That was just a sleepover with all the guys. If you're going to stay here for a bit, you take the couch."

"W-well, alright then." The cute blonde agrees hesitantly and turns back to the couch.

Personally, I head over to the cupboard near the bathroom and pull out a blanket and pillow.

"Goodnight." I proclaim, tossing him the pillow and dashing back into the room.

I love Butters dearly. God knows I do. But right now Kenny needs the company only a woman can give. If you don't understand me, go see Chef, because I can't be bothered to explain at the moment.

"Who was it?" Porschea asks me.

I shake my head as I work my hands under my parka. "No one important." I answer, once again pulling the restricting piece of orange cloth over my head and letting it land in a heap on the floor. I dive back into bed, resuming where I had left off, when another soft knock invades the passion clouded room.

I whine, resting my face in Porschea's perfectly shaped hips.

"Kenny?" The knock comes again.

"I'm sorry, don't move." I tell my girl, again leaving what I really want to be doing to open another door. "What?" I hiss when I poke my head out.

Butters stands there like a child scared of being scolded for being caught out of bed. "I need you, Kenny."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I snap, stepping out and closing the door behind me. "Well?"

And this sweet boy looks down shamefully, rubbing at his bruise-covered wrist. "I-I'm scared."

Scared. Right, a nightlight can fix that. Unfortunately, I don't have one. I do, however, have a dim light right above my stove.

"Okay, no problem." I assure him, rushing over to click it on. "There," I proclaim proudly, and pat his shoulder when I reach him again. "All better."

Butters glances at the light, rubbing his knuckles together in ambiguity. "B-but what if there's- there's ghosts?"

"There isn't any ghosts, Butters." I promise.

He hesitates. "Well, what about robbers?"

"What about them?" I question.

"Wah-what if they come in an- an get me?"

This time my sigh is pure exasperation. He's being a god damn, fucking pansy and this is stupid. He's six- fucking- teen for gods sake. "Butters, you're going to be fine. Now would you please leave me alone and go to sleep?"

The words are harsh and I can tell they sting him. I regret it instantly, but don't let him know that. He looks down, rubbing his knuckles even harder.

"I-I'm sorry, Kenny. I just… I just needed you, is all." He turns his back to me and sinks back onto the couch. "Goodnight."

Now I really feel bad. I look at my bedroom door, then Butters, then the door, and finally Butters again. I know what I'm going to do and it makes me want to smash my fucking face through a plate-glass window. Only Butters could get me to give up a sure night with a hot chick. If it were anyone else, I'd tell them to go fuck themselves. But not Butters. I can't do that to him. Besides, if I stay with him just until he falls asleep, I can sneak back in to Porschea.

He's lying on his side when I walk up to the couch, and his eyes shift to look up at me. "I'm real sorry, Kenny. Please don't make me leave."

"I'm not gonna make you leave." I soothe. "Scoot over, I'm gonna lay with you."

There's no resistance on his end to my request, and the moment I settle next to him, he cuddles warmly against my side. I guess this isn't so bad. Wendy did this a lot. She just wanted me there to hold on to.

Out of instinct, my hand settles on his back, and I etch zigzags and swirls across his shirt with my fingertip until I feel him relax and know he's sleeping. Normally I'd be rushing back to my room. It took nearly an hour to get to this point, but for some reason, I don't want to. I'd rather stay right here. Just like this, with his arm across my stomach and his breath against my neck.

Porschea will have to wait.

* * *

_-BratChild3 (Lisha)_


	9. WhinedUp Leprechaun

**Authors Note: **This is pretty much a short, uneventful chapter. I'm having a lot of trouble writing this from lack of reviews. Lack of reviews equals lack of encouragement on an authors behalf, you know. Hope to see some so I can get the good plot rolling.

* * *

**Chapter 9- Whined-Up Leprechaun.**

I found a note from Porschea this morning. Apparently she had fallen asleep waiting for me, and awoke in the early hours to not only find herself alone, but also find me on my couch snuggled with another guy. She asked if she could join in next time. She's never been with two guys at once and thinks it would be "_Sooo_ cool!".

I can only imagine what Butters would think if I mentioned it to him, or worse, asked if he'd be a willing participant. He's just way too childlike and pure hearted to be involved in something as dirty as sex. Look at him, sitting there eating his bowl of chocolate Lucky Charms and playing with the wined-up leprechaun he dug so expertly out of the bottom of the five dollar box. He's either going to stay a virgin forever, or end up with one of those dominatrix chicks that controls and forces him into painful and brutal sexual activities. Personally, I vote on the former.

"Kenny?" He doesn't even bother to look up at me, and he has about half a box of milk soaked pieces of charms stuffed in his mouth. The sight is adorable, in a repulsive sort of way. I truly don't know if I want to smile or puke.

"Yeah?" I approve his request to speak and grab the box of dry, sugary breakfast. I decided I'd rather eat, even though I'm not hungry, than continue to stare and contemplate whether or not I'm going to toss my cookies that, incidentally, aren't even in there to begin with.

"Do you love me?"

The tinkling sound of cereal falling into my bowl silences as my hand freezes. I look up at him, eyebrows furrowed. "_What?"_

He takes a few soggy chews, trying to break his food down efficiently enough to speak. "Do you love me?"

My hand drops the Lucky Charms box back to the surface of the table with a _clunk. _Things aren't suppose to shock Kenny McCormick. I've seen and heard it all. So how is it that this boy can sit here and ask such an innocent question that has me baffled beyond belief? It's incredible. Or, more terminologically correct, incredibly _frustrating._

"… Butters, who… _asks _something like that?" I blurt, unable to form any other words.

"Well," he contemplates, crunching some cereal between his teeth. "my dad says you're not my real friend, see? He told me- that real friends care a whole lot about each other, a- an real friends don't let each other get into any trouble." He pauses briefly to jam another spoonful into his mouth. "Well, I told him you _did _care about me. A _whole _lot. You're always so- so nice ta me and all. And then _he_ said, that friends _love _each other."

Butters dips his spoon into his bowl, staring at his reflection in the milk. There's two marshmallows left. Blue and green- like Stan and Kyle. The milk makes them cling to each other, and Butters can't even manually separate them with his spoon. Eventually, he gives up and scoops them both into his mouth.

Till death do them part.

"I-I got ta thinking about it," the blonde continues. "And I didn't know what to say. I know you're my friend, but I don't really think anyone _loves _me. So then I thought, heck, maybe you aren't my friend at all."

"Of course I'm your friend," I pledge. "Don't ever let anyone tell you I'm not, because that's bull crap, got it?"

"Got it," He echo's. "That's bull-crap!" He thumps his fists on the table, eyebrows furrowing in determination.

I smile at this and pour some milk over my own breakfast. "Just for the record, your dad is right. I love _all _my friends.

His knuckles mesh together at this, forcing an even bigger smile out of me. Our eyes lock. But he springs up when the doorbell chimes.

"I'll get it!" He stampedes to the door and throws it open. "Oh, Heya, Wendy!"

And I choke on my cereal, spraying milk across the table and dissolving into a coughing fit. The pressure expels more milk from my lungs, which squirts from my nose onto my legs and makes me leap up, slamming my chair into the wall. It rattles, knocking the framed painting off, which promptly falls on my head and knocks me to the floor. I land on my ass with a squeak.

Brilliant.

"Kenny, are you alright?"

_That all depends if you're asking about my head that got hit, my ass that feels bruised, or my pride, which is now gone. _

"Fine, Wendy, thanks." I reply tightly.

I avoid any and all eye contact with either of the two staring at me as I get up, and begin to replace the painting on the wall. As I'm doing this, I feel Wendy come up behind and sort of beside me. I know it's her and not Butters because of her scent. Yes, in many ways, Kenny is like a dog, I admit it.

"It's beautiful." She breathes.

I nod. "My grandma painted it." We both look it over a moment, and I shrug. "Never had anywhere to put it before."

"It looks perfect there." Wendy assures.

I step back, rubbing my neck through the back of my hood, still avoiding her gaze, which I can feel burning into me.

"I've seen the doorway and the painting," She states. "Now, aren't you going to give me the official tour?"

"Sure," I turn around to find Butters back at the table, slurping the discolored milk in his bowl and playing the mind games on the back of the box. Obviously, kids have a way of entertaining themselves.

It makes me smile to look at him. I can't help but slide my hand over his shoulder as I exit the kitchen with Wendy close behind.

I show her all of it, which isn't much, but it's something. Wendy looks genuinely impressed and ecstatic for me, complimenting on this or that. Namely things I didn't really notice, like lots of cupboard space, or lots of lighting. I guess I just don't have the Martha Stewart knack like girls do. And I'm thankful.

It's when we get into the bedroom that I really start feeling uncomfortable. It's a weird feeling to be in a familiar setting with a familiar person, but everything's changed. I can't kiss her like I want, and I know she isn't going to touch me like I want. And in the back of my mind, Kyle plagues me, and I wonder if he was in a similar setting with her last night, or even nights before last night. I wonder if it's why Wendy called it off with me.

She stands there staring at me with her little smile. Her Mona Lisa smile where no teeth show and her eyes tend to gleam. I make no movement whatsoever as she approaches me. I don't even breathe, but my heart is knocking wildly against my ribs. And just like in a daydream, her hands reach up and push off my hood.

"There you are." She whispers, sending shivers down my spine.

And exactly like in all my dreams for all these months, she leans in and kisses me, just how I remember.

… But it feels completely different.

Where was the initial rush? The instant boner? Not that the fact that a hot girl sticking her tongue down my throat isn't arousing, but the better and more conscious part of my mind is more concerned about Butters walking in on us then it is with what's going on behind the fly of my jeans. His nerves are easily rattled. Maybe not anywhere near as bad as Tweek, but I know he gets uncomfortable a lot. His fist-balling, knuckle-clanking habit has always been a telltale sign of that. If this got any hotter, what if he _does _walk in and gets so embarrassed he decides to go back home? Or even worse, can never look at me again?

As much as I like Wendy, I want Butters to stay more than I want temporary physical pleasure. I couldn't live with myself if he went back to his parents and they hurt him again, however unintentional it might be. But before I even have the chance to pull away, a small whimper escapes Wendy's lips as she breaks the kiss and turns away from me herself.

My breathing is coarse and ragged, but I manage to ask, "Wendy?"

She crosses her arms across her chest and I hear her choke back a sob.

"Wendy?" Wha-"

"I'm sorry." She croaks around a throat full of tears, and sinks to the edge of my bed. My heart breaks as I watch her bite her lower lip, trying hard to keep the tears back. Instead, they glass over and spill down her cheeks. A curtain of glossy, dark hair falls over her face as she lowers her head and covers her eyes.

I cast a glace through the doorway at Butters, still seated at the table. He holds up the whined-up leprechaun for his inspection and pulls a trigger on its back. It squirts milk from it's mouth directly in Butters eyes, making him jump back and drop the toy in his now empty bowl. He looks to the left, then the right, rubs his knuckles together, and then pokes it. A bright smile breaks across his face and he begins giggling at his own expense, then picks it up and tries again.

A half smile breaks across my face at the sight, and I quietly close the door to give Wendy and myself some privacy. I sit next to her, my thigh lined up with and pressing into hers. My palm slides across her neck behind her hair, and she collapses into me, burring her face in the crook of my neck. Her shoulders shake with sobs as I envelope her and lay my cheek on the crown of her head.

"What's hurting you, Wendy?" I whisper, giving her head a kiss and settling my cheek there again. I begin rocking her gently.

"I don't know what to do," She bawls, the tears coming out even harder.

"Shhh," I sooth, sifting my fingers therapeutically through her hair. "What happened?"

"I can't forget him," She expels in one long breath. "I don't even want to try anymore."

"Kyle?" I ask, sympathetically.

She pulls back with confused eyes and sniffles. "Kyle?"

I nod. "You're dating him, aren't you?"

Her lower lips trembles and her eyes fill with tears. A moment later, she dissolves against me in another fit of sadness.

* * *

_-BratChild3 (Lisha)_


	10. Baby Lotion

**WARNING! **Kenny/Butters fluff begins to evolve... now.

* * *

**Chapter 10- Baby Lotion.**

It was three weeks later when Porschea finally decided to make up for lost time. I can't say I was even expecting it, or even thinking about it. My head had been spinning so hard I wasn't even able to swallow much food, let alone keep what I could swallow in my stomach. I was haunted by Wendy's sad eyes, Kyle's sobs and Stan's anger. I was watching Butters every day, enchanted by how oblivious he was to the problems and troubles surrounding him. He was like my little dog, trailing behind me to and from school, and always so excited to see me when I came home from work at night. If he had a tail, it would probably be wagging constantly. He had become, quite literally, the only bright spot in my life for the time being.

I was at Monkey Wrench, splotched with oil and grease and cursing profoundly at the uncooperative car I was working on when a foot stamped itself between my thighs and rolled me out from beneath the fire-engine red hood.

Porschea stood there like a walking wet dream, nipples poking through the thin material of her tank top and her foot still between mine, giving me a clear view under her short, jean skirt.

"Is it just me," She starts in her oh-so annoying voice. "Or is it like, _so _cold in here? I'm so cold I can barely feel my skin. Omigosh! Do you think you could warm me up? I know how we could both get warm."

I know I should have told her I thought I heard the phone ringing in the office. I should have told her that the out of date T-Bird I was working on needed to be done in twenty minutes, which wouldn't have been a lie.

Instead, I said nothing as she unbuckled my belt and released me from the confines of my pants. And when she lowered herself onto me, without a condom, all I did was moan at the slippery sensation. For the first time since I got myself my own apartment, I was allowing myself to be selfish. Porschea taking me for a ride wouldn't make Butters parents more tolerable, couldn't fix Stan and Kyle's relationship, wouldn't pull Wendy out of her slump, but it would give me the chance to forget about how stressed I was for my friends and give my body the release it so desperately needed. By the time "Bad Day" by Daniel Powter finished playing on the radio, Porschea had taken me to heaven and back again.

What amazed me even more than her unabashed seduction was the way she straightened her skirt and walked casually back into the office at the 'ding' of the help bell only seconds after climaxing. I could only hope her perfume was strong enough to overthrow the smell of sex and she didn't reek of cum.

Just as I put away and zipped up all my man stuff, I was literally bombarded by a very upset couple. None other than the Stotches.

"We want our son back," Steven snapped. "We know you took him!"

"Oh, my baby! My baby!" His wife cried. I couldn't help but wonder if it was all for show.

My eyebrows furrowed angrily at the thought. "I didn't 'take' your son," I hissed in response, sneering in their faces. "I offered him a place to stay. You should be thankful I didn't turn my back on him for all the times _you _made him turn his fucking back on me!"

"Now, now-"

"He is a _good _kid. Do you hear me? He's one of the best God-damn people I have ever known and so help me, I will do everything I can to protect him from assholes like you!"

Mrs. Stotch gaped at me, and Mr. Stotch glared. "Wait just a minute-"

"I can't stop him from going back home," I continued on. "But I'm sure as shit going to try." The outraged expressions on their faces were almost too much for me to not laugh, but somehow I managed to keep a cool composure. "If you'll _excuse me_, I have work to get done."

"This isn't the last you'll be hearing from us, buddy!" He threatened, to which I simply rolled myself beneath the car once again.

"Oh, Steven! He's brainwashing our boy!" I heard Butters mom raving as they left.

I shook my head.

* * *

That night was the night I got all my bills in the mail and realized I could only afford half of them. I could pay rent and have no heat, electricity, or running water, or I could have all the trimmings and not pay my rent. One of the terms in my lease was no partial payments, so I couldn't very well pay half now and the rest later. Besides, I'd get really behind really fast if I started up with that, and the last thing I wanted was a million dollar rent- debt.

I didn't know what I was going to do, and I had been sitting at the little desk in my room for about an hour, staring at the papers piled up on the acrylic coated top. My scalp began to feel sore from digging my nails into my hair, a stressful habit I had formed sometime between the last time I died and tenth grade. I flipped my hood over my head and began pulling tight on the drawstrings instead. _That _habit I've carried with me from infancy, ever since I learned how to grab.

"Kenny?"

I swiveled around in my chair to face Butters, who was standing in the doorway, rubbing his knuckles together. He was wearing his two-piece white pajamas with the blue planets on them, only he always traded the top for a plain white T-shirt.

"What's up, dude?" I asked, once again muffled by orange material.

"Well," He picked at the elastic on his pants, drawing my attention to the front of them. "I was just wonderin' if you were all right."

I blinked my eyes back to his face; Round, concerned eyes the color of rainwater, little pixie nose, baby clear skin. I could literally feel my heart swell with warm affection. He never hid how much he cared about me. In fact, he's the only one who cried in the event of every one of my deaths. At least, he cried about the ones he knew about. Somewhere in my messy desk drawers, I still had the Get Well picture he had drawn of me and him in an airplane back in the fourth grade.

"Cuz you've been sittin' here for a real- a _real _long time." He continued, and I realized I had been staring. "We were s'pose to watch The Never Ending Story. Ruh-remember, Kenny?"

"Yeah." I answered finally. "Yeah, Butters, I remember."

I swiveled back around in my chair, opened a drawer and pushed all the opened envelopes and papers inside. Stressing about something I couldn't do anything about at that moment was pointless anyway.

Butters bounced happily into the living room and made himself cozy in the corner of the couch while I popped the DVD in and grabbed up the remote control. I used the power of fast-forward to avoid the previews and selected Play from the movie menu. As the Warning for piracy and threat of a two-thousand dollar fine flashed across the screen, I pinched at the back of my neck. I had had a stress headache for the past two days, and mulling over all the money I owed but didn't have had only made it worse.

I felt Butters eyeing me and glanced over at him.

"What's wrong?"

"Headache."

"Oh." He looked back at the screen, casting a couple more glances my way. "Well, gee, I could help loosen you up a bit if ya- if ya want."

At this point I was willing to give anything a go. "What did you have in mind?"

I had expected him to say something along the lines of making me a hot cup of chamomile tea or something else equally as grandmothery-ish, but you would think by that point I'd have expected the unexpected from him.

"I give real good massages," He explained, once again picking at his elastic.

I wished he would stop, it was making my blood pump to unhealthy area's, and that was just wrong around Butters.

"My parents used to make me give them neck massages all the time, cuz they give each other headaches and don't want one from each other, see?"

I should have guessed.

"I could give you one, but you'd have ta take off your parka first, otherwise it won't work very good."

I brushed off the hopeful look in his eyes and considered it. I didn't like to even take my hood down around anyone, but taking the parka off altogether? It just felt- _weird. _

He must have sensed what I was thinking, but no amount of time would have stopped his words from being such a shock.

"It's alright. I was looking' at you the other night when you were in your underwear."

"_What!"_ I squeaked.

He let out a childish giggle, the kind that comes out on its own when you're eight and have a secret.

"You _looked _at me in my underwear?" My voice was shrill. I couldn't believe him.

"Yeah," he grinned, looking down and picking his elastic waist band and letting it snap loudly against his skin.

I wanted to say something, but all that came out was a few strangled chokes of an attempt.

"You're one of the most- most beautiful people I've ever seen." He explained, looking shyly down at his knees. "You're always hidin' yourself all the time. And heck, I couldn't help but look at you for a while cuz it might be the only time I - I got ta see you. You aren't sore with me are you, Kenny?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but he peeked up at me through his bangs. I sighed and shook my head. After all, how could I be mad at Butters? How _could_ I? Besides, my neck hurt really bad.

"So," I said, grabbing the hem of my parka and lifting it up and over my head. "Still up to giving me that massage?"

His worried frown immediately filled with helium and graced his face with a smile. I threw my hoodie at him.

"Take off your shirt, too."

"My shirt?"

"Gee, I'm beginin' ta think you don't trust me none."

I closed my eyes, ruffling my hair habitually. "No, that's not it."

"Well, c'mon then." He insisted, a smile ever present.

I kept my eyes on him as I slowly pulled it off, feeling vulnerable and exposed and wondering if he would grimace at my thin, pale body. He never did, not for one second.

I stiffened even more when he slid behind me and pressed his thumbs against my neck. He used a deep pressure for a few seconds, then removed them. I heard him snap a lid closed followed by cold, slimy fingers.

I shivered.

"What is that?"

"Baby lotion."

I frowned in puzzlement. "Where'd you get baby lotion?"

"I always keep baby lotion with me." He answered bright and happily. "Why, it keeps my skin baby soft."

That explained why he always smelled like a freshly diapered infant tushy.

Butter's hands, I'm now convinced, have magic in every finger. They glided and rubbed into my skin with perfect pressure, relaxing my muscles and warming my flesh. His motions were loving and ginger, and I soaked in every sensation. I loved being touched that way, and I can count on one hand how many times I've actually experienced it. This was a treat for me.

"Feel good?" He spoke softly.

"Mmm." I managed to croak out.

I wasn't even sure when I had closed my eyes, but I realized at that point my eyelids were heavy as anvil's. The conscious part of my mind had started to doze. At some point, the stimulation got a bit too enjoyable. I noticed this when my blood began pulsing in lower regions and gave Butters a "standing ovation" so to speak.

"Okay," I told him gently, and grasped one of his hands over my shoulder. I twisted a bit to look at him and gave a smile. "Thanks, I feel much better."

He smiled back and rubbed the rest of the lotion into his hands.

"Butters?"

"Uh huh?"

"I've been doing a lot of thinking today." I began. "You've been here almost a month now and-"

"Please don't make me go back home." He pleaded, fear evident in his eyes. "I- I'll get in trouble again. Please, Kenny, I'll do anything."

"Actually," I started with a wide grin. "I was going to ask if you just wanted to move in."

Butters clanks his knuckles together. "Ruh- Really? Gee, that's awful nice of you."

"I like having you here." I promised. "What do you think? Want to be roomates?"

"Boy, would I!" He whooped, throwing his arms around my neck and hugging me.

I chuckled and pat his arm. "We'll get your stuff tomorrow. Right now, I need to get to sleep, you made me tired."

As I got up, I gave his knee a pat and gathered my shirt and parka.

"Kenny?" I looked at him. "D'ya think I could- could maybe…"

"Yes, you can sleep in my bed again." I laughed.

After we had both changed and settled on opposite sides of the mattress, I turned to him.

"You know, now that we're moving in, we'll have to get you a bed. You're always in here with me anyways."

Butters looks less then thrilled by this. "Yeah," He answered simply, then shut off the lamp.

But, I couldn't fall asleep, not until he did. When I felt him turn toward me and snuggle against my side, like every other night, I was finally comfortable enough to drift off myself.

* * *

_-BratChild3 (Lisha)_


	11. Ticklish

**Chapter 11- Ticklish:**

Butters has five pairs of the same pajamas with different prints on them; Blue planets, green dinosaurs, brown monkeys, orange stars, and my personal favorite- chocolate chip cookies. He wears boxers with cartoon characters on them, like Scooby Doo and the Fairly Odd Parents, and he puts on a fresh pair every day right after his routine morning shower. His favorite breakfast is cold cereal, preferably Cinnamon Toast Crunch or Apple Jacks. He doesn't mind eating his spaghettios straight out of the can, and he thinks drinking out of the carton is nasty, because "Gee, then backwash gets in it and people have ta drink that, and what would you wanna go and do a thing like that for"? He always likes to have music on, and if for some reason he can't he just sings to himself to make up for it. His hair smells like honey and he always tears up if someone else is feeling bad. He's afraid of ghosts, robbers and the occasional Boogey Man, but the glow from a nightlight keeps him up. He brushes his teeth with Colgate Total, and for the life of me, I can't get him to sleep in his own bed.

After happily agreeing to live with me, I eagerly cut school the next day with Cartman and Stan in tow (Kyle declined, saying that he morally objects to breaking into someone's home, which we would have done if the Stotches didn't let us in) and headed over to said residence. Luckily, Linda was the only one home, and without her husbands short fuse to influence her behavior, she invited us in with no hesitation.

"I just miss him so much," She said, clasping her hands together.

Cartman mumbled something to himself in exasperation and I eyed a framed photo of Butters as a toddler. His ass was showing. I think every mother has a picture of their kid like that. Everyone, of course, except mine because we couldn't afford film, much less a camera. I never did understand the fascination with baby behinds, and I don't think I ever will.

"Why does my baby want to leave me?" Mrs. Stotch practically wailed. "Doesn't he miss us?"

"I'm sure he does," I answered out of instinct, though I've got a hunch it's also the truth. Most people do miss their parents, even if those parents are assholes. "But he's ready for some independence."

"He's only sixteen!"

"And you treat him like he's five!" I snapped, losing my patience at how ignorant and selfish she was being.

Linda dissolved into tears behind her hands.

"Goddammit, Kenny, now look at what you did." Cartman accused. "Now we have to listen to her piss and moan some more, asshole."

"Hey, fuck you! At least I know how to stand up to bitches, you pussy-whipped, hippie loving, jack ass that doesn't know how to let go of someone when they obviously think you're a piece of crap!"

"Aye! I'll kick your ass!"

Stan grabbed my hand to pull me away. "Come on, dude, lets just go get his stuff." He led me up the stairs and glanced back at Cartman on the way up. "You help too, Fat Fuck, you lazy ass piece of shit!"

"God damnit, I hate you guys!" Cartman thundered as he followed us up to Butters room. "I'm getting pretty fucking sick of your bitching Stan, you need to stop being such a little pussy or you're going to get little vaginas all over you again."

This is how it had been. All my friends were just one heaping pile of hurt and anger and bitchiness. Normal for Cartman, but not for Stan and Kyle. The blue-eyed boy felt too betrayed to talk to the Jew, and the Jew was depressed from the blue-eyed boy ignoring him, and both were suffering major boyfriend withdraws.

In any event, the three of us managed to collect his clothes and haul away his bed in the back of Cartman's Toyota Tacoma. Sometimes I wish my mom would whore herself out to buy me something that bad ass. Once fat ass started cruising South Park in his new silver truck, half the female population of SP High swooned about him. Stupidly enough, he didn't give a shit, as usual. He wants one and only one "bitch". Wendy Testaburger. His mind is set, no matter how many restraining orders she gets against him. (Figuratively speaking, of course.)

We made it back to school that day before last period had even started, but instead of going inside I decided to hang out on campus and wait for Butters. He'd have a conniption fit if he couldn't find me. He was always worried I was going to die, even though I hadn't in a good number of years, and even if I did I'd be back the next day. He gave me a twenty minute lecture on the traumatic affects the death of a loved-one has on those left behind, permanent or not. I stopped telling him not to worry after that, and instead simply reassured him I'd be careful.

I had just put out my second cigarette and was about to doze off beneath the comfort of my campus tree when I shot up erect at the sound of the exit doors on the back half of the school flying open and bashing against the side of the building. Between the quake of the opening and the aftershock of the closing, Kyle stormed out dragging a loudly protesting Stan along behind him by the wrist.

"Kyle, what the _hell?" _He shrieked as his boyfriend slammed him against the wall.

But Kyle's only answer was an aggressive, powerful kiss that lasted a good lip-locking five seconds and ended with a resounding smack sound. Needless to say, he had the full attention of both myself and the otherwise breathless Stan.

"I'm still pissed off at you." He reminded, sounding unconvincingly stern.

But Kyle's fingertips were tracing the bottom hem of Stan's shirt and sneaking around his jean covered hipbones. "You might be pissed off, but it's been three weeks and I _know _you're craving this as badly as I am."

"Kyle, stop it!" Stan snapped, though his trouser snake betrayed him, already standing half-way to attention.

Kyle shoved him against the wall a second time, pinning him there with his own body. "Feel that and tell me you don't want it!" He challenged, nudging his groin against his helpless lover.

He closed his eyes, trying to fight the sensation but managing only to bite into his lip and plea, "Kyle… _please…"_

"Look at how hard you are," The dominate one pointed out, leaning his forehead against the others' and peering down at the front of their bulging pants pressed together. "Fuck, no matter how pissed off you get me, just the sight of you makes me hot as hell."

"You're still a fucking dick, you dick!" Stan breathed hatefully.

"_You're _the dick, you dick!" Kyle retorted seconds before their lips collided hungrily. His hands slid under Stan's shirt and gripped around his ribcage.

"I'm not going to forgive you for what you did!" The blue-eyed youth said the moment they broke apart for air, even as he pulled Kyle's hips closer and ground into him.

"Oh God, _Stan_-" Kyle hissed against the sensation. Eyelids squeezing closed, he pushed his forehead against Stan's and let their breathing entwine. "I never did anything." He promised, pausing to let out a soft moan. "Whenever I was with Wendy, all I did is talk about you." He pressed his lips against his friends' again, this time letting his tongue flirt with the tip of Stan's.

"You taste so good," Stan complimented, then delved in for another half dozen pecks and one long, sensual kiss.

Kyle pulled back. "Tell me you love me again."

"God, Kyle, I never stopped."

"Tell me."

"I love you," He kissed him. "I love you," Another kiss. "I love you…"

This continued onward, the kisses lingering longer each time until it dissolved into one steady make out session complete with full frontal grinding. Kyle wasn't exaggerating in the least when he accused Stan of being a moaner. I could hear raspy groans of gratification emerging from his throat even with the Jews tongue half way down his throat. And when Kyle's hands snuck up Stan's shirt and rolled his thumbs over his nipples, Stan broke into a series of loud moans equally full of praises and curses and Kyle's name in between each. When he reached orgasm, he shuttered violently through it, taking Kyle along with him for the whined-down just as the last bell rang.

* * *

"I've got a surprise for you." I told Butters as we entered our apartment that afternoon.

_Our _apartment. You'd think that the idea of having my own apartment exclusively would be more exciting than sharing it with someone, but that just wasn't the case with me. I liked sharing with Butters. Somehow, his presence made it feel more like a home.

I led him into the large bedroom with my hands over his eyes. The way he giggled as we walked together gave me a bubbly, excited feeling.

"Ta Da!" I exclaimed, pulling my hands away from his face and placing them on his shoulders.

But he didn't squeal with joy, whoop and jump, or even shout a cliché exclamation. In fact, his smile fell and his knuckles instantly pounded together.

"Oh," Came his quiet response. "You- you got my bed."

I was perplexed, but I didn't let it deter me. Instead, I happily marched into the room. "Not just your bed, Mr. Snuggles!"

I held his stuffed toy since childhood out to him, which he took with a disinterested frown.

"And your clothes." I continued, pulling open the closet where they were all hanging in a neat row.

He looked down at his cuddle doll and set it lamely on his bed. "Thanks, Kenny." He said simply, and exited the room.

I wasn't quite sure what the big deal was, but I shrugged it off. Besides, I had to get ready for work. He sat on the couch with his arms crossed over his chest and his bottom lip protruding in an unmistakable pout, watching Jimmy Neutron on Nickelodeon.

"I'm about to head out to work." I informed him as I came out of the room pulling a plain white shirt over my head.

No response.

"There's some leftover pizza when you get hungry for dinner."

I pulled the drawstrings on my parka and grabbed my keys off the counter.

"Lock the door when I leave."

He hadn't looked at me the entire time, so I blocked his view of the T.V by standing in front of it.

"Butters?"

"I heard you." He snapped.

I rubbed the back of my neck nervously and left without another word.

* * *

That night when I came home, Butters was already in bed. He locked the door like I had asked him to, which was a relief. We weren't exactly living in the high security part of South Park and part of me always worried about him when I wasn't there.

I took a shower before settling into my own bed, but it wasn't until I woke up the next morning that I found Butters curled against me with his arm flung across my waist, his bed and Mr. Snuggles abandon on the other side of the room. I'm not sure when he crawled in bed with me, but he did it every night for the next month. When I'd ask him about it, he'd either distract me by talking about something else, or ignore me altogether.

I got him one night when he wasn't expecting it. Instead of climbing into my own bed, I climbed into _his _bed. His eyes promptly flew open as my weight settled into the mattress.

"Ghosts! Kenny, they've got me!" He shrieked when I flung my arm around him.

I laughed out loud. I couldn't help myself. Any logically thinking person would have thought "robber" before "ghost" would enter their subconscious. But not my Butters.

"Kenny?" He asked, wide eyed and frightened. He was now backed up into the corner where the side and head of his mattress were pushed against the wall.

I wasn't wearing my parka, and I crawled toward him until the light from the moon fell on my face. "Boo." I teased gently.

His eyebrows furrowed and his hands, balled into little fists and tucked beneath his chin, shot out and pushed me away.

"That was a rotten thing ta do!" He lectured. "Why would you wanna go an- an scare me like that for?"

"I wasn't trying to scare you," I answered around a laugh, to which he only got angrier and tried to scoot past me and off the bed.

To his further chagrin, I pushed him onto his back and leaned over him. "C'mon, dude, I didn't mean anything by it. I just thought I'd join _you _in bed this time. Lighten up."

I poked his stomach with my index finger and broke into a wide smile when he responded with a jerk and small grin.

So, Butters was ticklish.

I smiled down at him and bobbed my eyebrows.

"Now, Kenny, you wouldn't wanna go an do nothing like-"

My fingers began assaulting his sensitive sides and stomach with tickles, gaining an immediate burst of laughter from the blonde below me. I ceased his struggling by straddling his lap and restraining his arms against the mattress above his head. Without any hands available, I lowered my head and blew a raspberry on his stomach. He squealed loudly at the sensation, which only encouraged me to blow more- On his stomach, on his throat, on his neck.

I'm not sure exactly what happened after that. All I can really recall is the intense feeling in the pit of my stomach, and the way the salt of his skin tasted when I licked my lips. The raspberries I blew into his skin got lighter and gentler on his neck. He stopped struggling, we stopped laughing, and I could feel the bulge in his brown monkey pajama pants growing bigger.

That's when my tongue flicked out onto his skin, but I was no longer playing. I was licking and sucking and kissing his neck. I moved my hands away from holding his down and cradled his hips in them. His snaked around my waist, and I lifted my head to look down at him. My heavy breathing blew on his bangs, and in the next instant my lips crushed down onto his.

Sweet, gentle, subtle.

I dared a chance and let my tongue run the perimeter of his lips and then sink inside. My man parts began throbbing when his tongue answered my probing and began flirting with mine.

I was abuzz with too many emotions to think straight, and soon became entranced in the act. My tongue delved into his mouth, again, and again and again, thrusting in and out, mimicking what my lower half wanted to be doing. His hips lifted off the mattress and ground into me, and that's when I broke away.

"Oh God, Oh God, Oh God…" I chanted in a whispery shout. "Butters?"

I looked down into his eyes, and then I darted for the bathroom, desperate for release.

* * *

_-BratChild3_


	12. Partial Chapter

**AUTHORS NOTE: So here's the thing. This is only a PARTIAL chapter. Its been hanging out in my documents for YEARS. As you know, this hasnt been updated in forever. I can NOT find the inspiration for it and yet I continue to get amazing reviews. You guys are so awesome. So here's the thing... I decided I'd put up this even though it's barely anything and see if I get reviews that totally inspire me to finish. If not, at least you all get the very last morsel of it, oui? **

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**PARTIAL CHAPTER- **

There comes a point in everyone's life when sex becomes something you'd rather not think about. I would have pissed myself laughing if anyone had ever said that to me a month ago, but the hard truth was that I'd reached that point in my life, and the harder truth was that I was only seventeen. As usual, this was all Butters' fault.

Butters, with his sweet as honey smile and smooth as cream skin; Butters, pure as a virgin rose, tempting as the fragrant petals and deadly as the thorns. Butters, my nirvana, my _addiction_.

The fire of my goddamn loins.

I had been undone by a single kiss, and now the poison of his touch was flowing lazily through my veins, coursing and mixing into my blood without any antidote to remove the toxic rush. I'd been foolish to underestimate his power, and now it was too late to escape the reality I had fallen into; the reality that I was completely, helplessly under his spell. It was enchanting and delicious and so horribly _wrong_. Yet I found myself unable to break through surface of the dark waters I'd been plunged into.

_Completely powerless._

I went through an entire pack of Camel's that night, locked in the haven of the bathroom—the only room in the house with a lock on it. I couldn't bring myself to go back into the bedroom and face him so soon, not when he was potentially still hard from my playful assault. I wasn't sure he knew how to take care of things for himself. Did Butters even know how to masturbate? He was hard to figure out sometimes. Part of me suspected the innocence he portrayed was contrived, perhaps to keep his parents satisfied, perhaps for his own benefit.

The next morning was worse than I had imagined it would be, though. I had originally thought that Butters, with his charm and innocence, would have acted like his usual self— like nothing had ever happened—because honestly, I thought it was possible he didn't even understand the significance of the situation we had been in. Instead he was sullen, silent. He poured a bowl of Lucky Charms, but he didn't even get as far as adding in the milk before staring idly into the bowl, the slight hint of a frown coloring his lips.

I wanted to ask him if he was okay. I wanted to reach out and touch the baby-clear skin of his cheek and tell him that I wasn't mad and that none of this was his fault. I wanted to do so much more than that, but I was a coward who couldn't even get myself to say good morning. Instead, I simply ate my rye toast in silence, then pulled on my parka and waited for him by the door. He was slow in pouring the dry cereal back into the box and carefully arranging his bowl in the dishwasher. We didn't say anything until he had joined me at the door, not looking in my direction as he slipped into the teal warmth of his jacket and grabbed up his backpack.

"Ready?" I finally asked.

Butters simply walked out the door.

* * *

**Unfortunately, this is all I've written. I ended THERE. Yes, pathetic. There's actually like... 5 lines of Kenny and Stan in the next scene but I thought posting a partial SCENE was too mean.**

**TO BE CONTINUED?**

**-BC3**


	13. Cinnamon Toast

**Author: **Surprise, surprise, eh? Quick note: I've had this whole story mapped out for years but just couldnt get it down on (eletronic) paper, for some reason. It's pure magic what RPing can do for writer's block. I owe KyleisGod up the yinyang for helping me out SO MUCH with this chapter-thank you for your time and your help making this chapter what it is.

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**Chapter 13-** **Cinnamon Toast**

Stan is perched on the top step leading to the school entrance when Butters and I arrive this morning. He takes a bite of his plain, toasted waffle and waves us over. Butters seems to have gone temporarily blind, though, because he marches straight passed him and into the school without any acknowledgment.

"Who pissed in his cheerios?" Stan asks when I drop down next to him. We still have ten minutes until first bell.

"More like who killed his boner."

Stan raises an eyebrow and seems to take a long time to consider that before finally speaking. "Do I even want to know what that means? Because I have a feeling I absolutely don't, but I'm pretty sure you'll tell me anyway."

I launch into the offending details of my assault before he can escape, and he listens patiently through the whole confession, chewing slowly on bits of waffle. When I finish, my pulse spiking to an anxious throb, he swallows and turns a very serious look on me. And then...

Then he begins to laugh.

I stop my frantic pacing to shoot him a glare, annoyance rolling off of me in venom-drenched waves. "What the hell's so _funny_?"

He's now bowed over, his shoulders trembling with near silent laughter. It takes him a moment to get a hold of his mirth, and he takes a deep breath and rights himself, speaking through a grin. "You made Butters pop a tent? I mean, is that even legal? _Butters_?"

"Oh, I get it," I snap. "Ha ha, that's so funny. I'm a pedo. You _dick_."

To Stan's credit, he tries to stop laughing, but his face takes on that carved expression of someone attempting and failing to suppress their humor. His lips are wrung into a frown, but even that looks like a smile.

"He'll calm down eventually, dude." He says, half chortling. "When he does you can tell him why you really freaked out. Right now he probably thinks that you think he's ugly or something and it pisses him off. Butters is a girl like that." He consumes the remainder of his waffle; his amused smile slowly dying down with every thoughtful chew. "I get it okay? It's not easy. You know, coming out. Screwing around is even harder - " Stan quickly reconsiders his words. "- _tougher _at first. I bet Butters being all flaming doesn't help either when you're still creeping out of the closet. And I do use the term 'creeping' literally. It's _Butters, _for fuck's sake."

I shoot him a sour look, my narrowed gaze burning with malice. If he laughs again, I swear I'll turn his face inside out. "All that Charm, Stan; its no wonder Kyle's crazy about you."

Stan recognizes the incensed expression and chooses not to push his luck any further. His facial features are safe for the time being.

"Speak of the devil."

A clearly infuriated Kyle stomps up the twisting cement path from the direction of the drop off parking lot. His fiery red curls and homicidal expression made him look every bit the poster child for Satan's incarnate. Maybe I'm the only one fantasizing about causing Stan some bloodshed.

He stands up to greet Kyle, but he doesn't get out so much as a wave, let alone a verbalized hello. Kyle practically slams Stan against the closest ionic column knock-off and forces their lips together. Stan initially voices an unsuccessful protest against Kyle's mouth, but it's muffled and halfhearted. His eyes are wide and staring, like a shark. I shake my head disapprovingly at him. When the person you're nailing comes up to you and starts shoving their tongue in your mouth, you just roll with it, pussy. Stan does just the opposite and pushes Kyle away.

"Dude!"

His statement is whiny, embarrassed; maybe a little angry, too. He looks around the schoolyard as his cheeks turn red, and it's not from the cold.

Kyle latches onto his arm like he's the last tree standing in a hurricane. "I don't care anymore, Stan, and neither should you. I'm tired of sneaking around all the time. I'm tired of watching every move I make and every word I say so I don't give us away. I'm _sick _and _tired _of dating girls just to keep up appearances. And for what? For _who's _benefit?"

He turns now, facing the scattered crowds of students standing frozen, watching him in puzzlement and awe.

"Everyone else is always dry humping each other after every period, making out all over the lunch room tables, and what do I get? I get to stand two feet away from my better half and pretend I don't have a seven inch rod burning in my pants? Screw this shit. I'm gay...or Stan-sexual, or whatever you want to call me. I have a boyfriend and I have the right to hold his goddamned fucking hand in the halls if I want to. And anyone who doesn't like it can kiss my skinny Jew ass!"

Silence follows his outburst, and then Craig, standing just below him on the bottom steps, snatches Tweek's hand, tugs him up the stairs, and turns to face everyone. He flashes his middle finger to the left, right, and middle, then disappears into the school.

A few students return to normal following the respective outbursts of Kyle and Craig. A few others mutter incoherent remarks - both positive and negative. I chime in with my usual tact.

"Seven inches, huh? Thanks for the visual."

"Oh fuck off!" Kyle snaps. He turns his attention back toward his Stan and finally lowers his voice a few notches. "So how about it, Stan? Do we have a problem or are you done hiding it? Because I sure as hell am."

Stan blinks. He runs his hand through his hair and blinks again. "What the hell set _you _off? We were just in the closet yesterday."

Kyle shrugs. "I fake-dated Wendy last night, and that was the last straw, I guess. All she did was go on and on about - ..."

He glances my way and I shrug, pretending not to care. What, Kyle? Was she going on about some dude she likes? Maybe about Stan? That's the word around school, but I don't buy it. Wendy has different tastes now, and Stan's a total cock lover. A Jew cock lover at least.

Apparently, a seven-inch Jew cock lover. Nice.

"Oh boy," Kyle mutters, looking upward with a sigh. Then in obvious exasperation says, "Hi, Wendy."

I feel her arm slip into mine; she had come up behind me. "Hi, Kyle. Look, I'm sorry about last night."

"Don't worry about it," Kyle rushes. "Come on, Stan."

I watch the thickening crowd swallow them up, which, I suddenly realize, is dotted with a few same sex couples, arms linked or hands cupped. Blinking at them curiously, I feel Wendy's arm tighten around mine, tugging a little to get my attention.

I turn to face her and smile. "One date and you turned the kid queer. Tisk, tisk, tisk."

"Oh, so you believe being gay is a choice?" she says. She's not playing along-she knows that kills the joke. She's too smart for me. Hell, she's too smart for everybody.

"Oh, no you don't. I know better then to debate with you." I lean in and press my lips to her cheek.

She shudders a bit at the contact. Hm. That's different. Maybe I'm just having an especially strong effect on her today. I'd like to think so.

"Listen, can we talk?"

"Talk, or go somewhere to dry hump? According to Kyle everyone's doing that around here."

"Talk, talk. Seriously."

She's still not playing along.

"Love to, but can it wait until later? The teacher's going to have my nuts if I'm late again."

It looks for a moment as if she's not going to let me go, but then she slowly uncoils her arms and nods. "Okay. But it's really important that we talk about it."

I give her a thumbs up. "We will."

The bell sounds. I have to get inside and to my classroom fast and none of the people in my way are going to give a fuck by moving faster. I blow Wendy a kiss and wave goodbye with the same hand as I run the stairs two at a time, making it to class with one minute to spare.

—

Second period gym class, I enter the gymnasium and immediately focus in on Butters; paired, not surprisingly, with Cartman. From here it looks as if he's blown off most of his steam from this morning. Although it could just be that a few hours away from me has given him the full benefits of a trip to the day spa.

"Hi, Kenny."

I had gravitated toward Wendy out of sheer habit, and didn't even realize it until she spoke. "Oh, hey Wendy."

I'm late today by a few minutes, but Wendy has obviously waited for me. She's holding two rackets and hands me the orange, keeping purple for herself. It feels light and cheap in my hand. I look down, swiping it through the air a few times.

"Tennis?" I ask, a little confused. That was usually played outdoors. We're inside today because of the weather—overcast and drizzly. They make us play outdoors in the snow, but rain is apparently a different matter altogether.

"Badminton," Wendy says.

I glance around, finally noticing the various nets set up. A tiny sigh of relief escapes me. I had died at least once during practically every sport out there, but Badminton... It's tame, generally safe.

"I'll serve," Wendy says as she removes the birdie from the pocket of her gym shorts. "But do you mind if we talk first?"

She puts her hands behind her head and begins to smooth back her hair, making sure it's secured into a gym-safe pony tail that also helps her differentiate herself from the other girls and their matching outfits.

"Talk?" I trail her to the net in the far corner. It's the one next to Butters and Cartman. And it's so stupid the way my pulse begins to thrum erratically, almost like I'm actually _nervous_. Who the fuck cares if Butters is on his period? It's really nothing new.

Wendy stops at the end of the marker, and I run dead into her back. Fuck, what's wrong with me?

"Sorry. I'm sorry," I say. "I don't know where the hell I left my brain this morning."

Wendy brushes it off with a casual shrug and points with her racket to the opposite side of net. I duck beneath it to pass through and take up the appropriate stance. Butters is on the opposite side of his own net, beside Wendy and facing me. He gives me a vague look, scowls, and knocks the birdie toward Cartman.

A presence to my right brings my attention back around, and again I feel like I have pudding for brains.

"Um, Wendy, you need to go over there." I point to the empty square in front of me.

"Kenny, what were we just talking about?" She asks, an air of impatience tingeing the words. She crosses her arms, a pointed quirk arching one eyebrow.

"Ummm?" I shrug and slide a hand toward her, indicating it would be a good time for her to jump in and remind me.

She rolls her eyes. "We need to _talk_, Kenny."

"Oh, that," I say, and grin apologetically. "I'm kind of failing this class right now, so can we talk while we play?"

Wendy glances to her side, observing Cartman and Butters. Her eyes slide back to me—startlingly, beautifully blue—and her voice lowers as she speaks again.

"Um, actually I think this is best. Others might overhear that far apart and-"

"You guys!" Cartman calls out, breaking Wendy's concentration. Her head instinctively snaps back toward them, her glossy ponytail whipping over her shoulder. She doesn't acknowledge Cartman verbally, but continues to listen to him for now.

"Check this out! I'm totally gonna smack the shit out of this faggy birdie…. _Wendy_!" He calls again when she looks away. "Wendy, watch this!"

Cartman throws his birdie into the air. He rears his arm back, swings his racket wildly, and misses by a mile. "Oh goddammit! Butters you screwed me up!"

Wendy faces me again. "Anyway, this is hard to-"

"Wendy! _Wendy_!" Cartman calls again. "The light was totally in my eyes. I've got it now. Watch dude. Kinny! Watch this, Kinny. Maybe you'll learn something and not have to fail gym and be poor."

True to his word, Cartman manages to hit the birdie this time. Unfortunately, it doesn't go over the net. It doesn't even reach the net due to his incredibly weak, untalented serve.

"You do it like this, Eric," says Butters, bending to scoop up the birdie. He tosses it in the air and strikes it straight at me, the loud "Thock!" sound like a gunshot as the ball of the birdie pelts me in the eye.

"Ow." It comes out more shocked than anything. "What the hell, Butters?" I rub at it blearily. Wendy tugs my hand away by the sleeve and inspects the damage.

"You'll live, tough guy," she says. "Now, Kenny, this is seriously impor-"

THOCK!

The birdie connects with the back of my skull. I snatch it off the ground and send it hurtling toward Butters, but Cartman jumps in front of it and makes several extremely embarrassing swipes as it sails past his left ear.

"Meeeh!" Cartman whines. "I almost _had _that one! I'm _seriously_!"

Wendy sighs in increasing exasperation.

"Kenny I..." She hesitates and grips her racket more tightly, her other hand, I suddenly realize, is squeezing mine. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and tries to speak again. "Kenny, I...I...I can't just...blurt this out. Fuck."

Another birdie sails through the air. It strikes the side of my head this time. Is Butters even _trying _to serve in Cartman's direction? By the severity of his glare, the odds aren't in my favor.

Cartman throws back his head and laughs, the sound cruel and gloating. "Nice one, Butters. Hit Wendy next."

"Hit me and I'll be sending your balls to your parents in separate foil-wrapped baggies," Wendy says, successfully wiping the evil smirk off Butters face. "Kenny, Goddamnit, I _need _to-"

THOCK!

Wendy freezes as the birdie bops the back of her head. I can see the outrage fill her eyes, hot and watery like a shot of whiskey. She whirls on Butters, who smacks his racket against the support pole.

"Don't you tell me what to...what to do, you no good boyfriend stealer."

I slap my hand to my forehead and drag it hopelessly down my face.

"Boyfriend stealer?" She repeats, her voice cold, clear, and high. "Boyfriend stealer? Butter's you annoying, snot-nosed little shit!"

I grab her by the back of the shirt before she can charge after him. Butters takes a few steps back, but his face is still set in hard, angry lines.

"Let go of me!" Wendy snaps. She swats my hand off her shirt as she turns on me. Hell, she's even cute when she's pissed. Maybe even more so. "_You _should want to kick his wimpy ass more than I do! God! Cartman is _such _a bad influence on that kid, I swear. If you weren't here I'd go over there and-"

"_Wendyyyy_!" Cartman whines. "You weren't _lookiiing_! I totally got it over the net that time!"

Wendy opens her mouth to shout what I imagine is another lively selection of profanities, but another stray birdie from Butters skims her nose as it twirls by. I leap aside to dodge it.

"Weeeendddyy!"

"DO YOU TWO _MIND_?"

Wendy's voice reverberates off the walls, chorusing over our fellow classmates with such force that silence permeates the room. Somewhere in the distance, Clyde begins to cry. Cartman and Butters stare bug-eyed and pale skinned, their mouths slightly ajar.

"Daaamn," Cartman says. "She needs to change her tampon, huh?"

But common sense creeps in, and the pair of them take to a cordially passing of the birdie back and forth between them, neither of them uttering a word.

I touch Wendy's shoulder. She turns to me, fire blazing madly in her normally warm, twinkling eyes.

"Did you want to-"

"No." She snaps. She yanks the birdie from my hand and moves to the opposite side of the net. "No. We'll talk about it _later_. I'm too pissed off right now." She swipes a stray hair agitatedly from her cheek and serves with unnecessary vigor. "What the _hell _crawled up Butter's ass and died anyway?"

"More like what _didn't _crawl up his ass." I say, sending the birdie back smoothly. "'Boyfriend-stealer, remember? Although that's not exactly true either. Long story."

Wendy scoffs. "Another one of your conquests getting too attached?"

"Not even."

"You moved on fast," she says.

"What have I moved on from?"

"Me."

"_I_ moved on fast?" It's amazing how quickly she can get under my skin, like a shot of venom straight to my heart. "I've been trying to get back with you for _how long _now?" She's tripping. She has absolutely no idea what the hell she's saying.

"Oh, just forget it! Forget it!" She flings her racket to the ground, sending it spiraling toward me across the waxed floor-boards. When I look back up, she's marching toward the girls locker rooms.

I can't help but notice how smoking hot her ass looks in her gym shorts.

—

Everything seems to go to shit pretty quickly after gym. The number of suddenly outted couples is more extreme than I would have imagined. It wouldn't be a stretch to say that the couples making out by their lockers between classes are now about 20% gay. It makes me uneasy, in an odd sort of way. I have never had a problem fantasizing about my male friends-obviously. I have never had a problem with gay couples; but I have always felt a faint shadow of awkwardness creep over me whenever opportunities to actually "experiment" present themselves.

And my feelings for Butters... they make everything feel so much worse.

It's lunch hour, and although I'm not hungry, I still manage to load my tray with as much food as Cartman. Force of habit, mostly; for most of my life, school lunch was my only meal of the day. But as I look down at it, making my way toward the table Stan and Kyle occupy next to the window and an open emergency exit, my stomach curls into a gentle knot. My appetite today has shriveled up into nothing.

"Hey, Kenny," says Kyle. Stan waves, his mouth stuffed too full with something or other to properly speak.

I mutter a reply, but I'm not completely sure what it is I say. I've spotted Butters again, sitting this time with Powder and Rebecca. The group seems to be deep in conversation, their heads all huddled together. Rebecca glances at me, says something, and the other two look up. They all three glare at me, Powder shooting me a particularly nasty sneer, and then turn inward and began chattering hotly at once.

Great. As if I'm not already having a lousy experience, I'm fast becoming a popular gossiping topic. I should be furious with Butters, but all I can feel is more guilt, more anxiety.

I turn away and search my tray for something a little less offending than the sloppy joe; I'm pretty sure I can't handle the spice and grease of it at the moment. I bypass the fries and settle for the baked apple slices, covered in a light dusting of cinnamon and sugar. As I stab a wedge with my plastic spork, I feel Kyle's steely, shamrock gaze on my face, and I know that he's scrutinizing my actions, correlating it with my mood.

Nosey bastard.

"So Kenny," he says, and I can tell he's trying to sound as casual as possible. "What the _hell's _got your Fruit of the Looms in a bind?"

…Or not.

I look up stupidly the same instant Stan says, "It's Butter's. Kenny wants to bone him but he's worried about whether it means he'll have to register as a sex offender since it would make him a full-blown pedo." He bites a french-fry in half and grins.

Anger flares inside me. I stab my utensil deep into a particularly plump bit of apple. "I warned you about saying that shit!"

Kyle places a firm hand to my chest before I can lunge across the table to choke out his boyfriend. "Chill dude." He wisely removes his hand. "If you want Butters, go get him. It's no big deal."

"Says the gay guy taking out girls." I reply.

Kyle's eyes narrow a fraction, and some sick part of me revels in satisfaction. Sometimes it's not altogether difficult to see what it is about pissing off Kyle that brings Cartman such joy.

_Sometimes_... when he's pissing me off.

"In case you haven't noticed, _Kenneth_, I put an end to that this morning. It was wrong. _I_ was wrong. It's no big deal."

Crap. Full name. Kyle only drops a full name when he's pissed. Stan gets "Stanley" a lot. …Whatever, though; fuck it. I'm pissed, too. I really should've just choked Stan out, but that would make Kyle mad, so I guess we would've ended up here anyway.

"Put an end to it? What, you mean when you gagged Stan with your tongue this morning?"

"Whoa, whoa, Dude," Stan says, finally interjecting. "I think that's going a little too-"

But Kyle is looking down at his lap, chuckling under his breath, his face turning a soft shade of shell pink.

"I didn't plan for that to happen," He says. "I was just so angry. My mom told me she was going to set me up with Wendy again and I don't know what happened. I called her a meddlesome bitch and slammed out of the car. She was screaming at me while I stormed up campus, and then I saw Stan and I just..." He breaks off, shrugging.

Stan raises an eyebrow. "Is _that _why that happened?"

"Uh-huh."

Stan nods and chews another fry. "I was wondering. I didn't mind rolling with it, so...She's gonna bitch you out later, you know."

Kyle shrugs. "It was worth it."

The smile they share is both secretive and knowing. I look away respectfully, but I can still see in my peripheral vision Kyle feeding Stan one of his fries. They've been significantly more mushy today because, I suppose, they no longer have anything to hide. But I wish they'd be a little more considerate of the single people who may be made to feel even more like shit by their affectionate gestures. Assholes.

Kyle doesn't notice my glare this time. Stan is too big a distraction, having locked gazes with Kyle and catches his finger in his mouth under the pretense of eating the fry. The smile freezes on Kyle's face, and he breaks into a shudder as Stan sucks the salt slowly off his finger. I'm visited by the infuriating urge to watch and the equally strong sensation to beat them over the head with my food tray.

I turn my head, groaning miserably. That awkward feeling is coming back, and I'm surrounded it seems. Craig and Tweek are holding hands. Craig flips me off for staring. I look the other way. Butters is still ignoring me. In fact he's choosing to talk to Cartman instead, which isn't totally surprising, but it still stings. My eyes try to find shelter elsewhere. No luck. Wendy decides to take up the silent treatment, too. She sees me looking and intentionally turns her head away. She doesn't even have a girlfriend around to pretend to talk to. She just plain doesn't want to look at me. Ouch.

Finally, I turn my back to Stan and Kyle and am greeted by a table of four girls-freshly out of the closet girls, it seems, because two of them are making out and the other two are admiring each others low-cut blouses.

Disgusted and jealous of all the blossoming gay love, I push away from the table, leaving my tray, and start for the door. I notice Butters' eyes follow me, and my heart kicks up when I reach the empty hallway and hear footsteps hurrying toward me.

"Hey! Kenny, wait up!"

Having expected Butters, I'm momentarily thrown off by the high voice. When I turn, it's Wendy, sprinting after me with one hand holding her lilac beret on her head.

I try not to show my disappointment, but it's hard. I'm a little thrown off by it myself. "Not now, 'kay?" I can't take this shit. I'm going to work. At least there I can get paid to distract myself with minor tasks. Not to mention, distract myself with a girl who actually likes me.

Well, likes my sex drive anyway.

"Not now?" She says, incredulous. She slows to a normal walk and finally stops in front of me. "What the hell, Kenny? I've been trying to talk to you all morning and you wont stop blowing me off!"

I throw my hand toward the cafeteria. "You could have talked to me in there. You're the one who fucking ignored me, so don't you dare shoulder it off on me. You had your chance and you decided to act like a goddamned ice princess instead of getting off your high horse and saying whatever the hell it is you're wanting to say!"

"It isn't that _simple_. And it's even harder when you keep finding better things to do!"

"Well right now I'm getting bitched out pretty good. Not hard to find something better than that to do."

"God," She says, her breathing now heavy, as if she'd just jogged a particularly steep set of stairs. "God, suddenly it's all coming back to me why I just... broke it off with you! You don't care about anything but getting some! Nothing!"

I'm startled to see a rim of glitter start around her eyes and form into a few glimmering teardrops. A while ago, a month, if even, I wouldn't have been able to walk away from her. Even now I feel a fist clamp around my heart and constrict; but I look away, turn, begin moving toward the exit at the end of the hall without any real forethought. The only inspiration bouncing inside of my head is the overwhelming impulse to escape.

—-

Something is wrong. Something is _very _wrong because a raw jumble of guilt and anxiety is not what I'm supposed to be feeling after a healthy dose of bathroom sex. It's better than nicotine usually, the endorphin rush so great I can't stop smiling for at least a few hours after the fact. Now, I pull back from Porschea and try not to succumb to nausea as I button my jeans and refasten my military belt buckle.

Porschea isn't nauseous like I am. Or at least that's what I'm gathering from the smile on her face as she locates and reapplies her underwear. If nothing else, at least I know I haven't lost my touch.

"Ohmigod. That is definitely the best way ever to end a work day. It should be a law or something."

Somehow, I manage a small chuckle for her benefit, and move toward the bathroom door. "Yeah. Well, see you tomor-"

"Have you had dinner yet?"

I freeze with my hand pressed to the door. I didn't even have lunch, really. But now that we've already reached stage "fuck-her-brains-out," I never imagined I'd need to take her out again. That has nothing to do with hooking up. "No," I answer honestly. "Why?"

Porschea shrugs. "I dunno. Like, I was thinking we're already hooking up, you know? So...Maybe we could grab something to eat. You know. Together? I had _so _much fun last time."

The guilt hits my stomach even harder now, and because of it, the last thing in the world that I want to do is eat. I don't want to have dinner with her. Or do anything else with her beyond our brief physical encounters. I guess maybe Wendy was right about me. At least in this case. "Oh. Um..."

She's not smiling anymore, her dark eyes, so unlike Wendy, suddenly narrowing in a similar fashion that indicates trouble.

How many more people can I possibly disappoint this week? Lately, too many people are getting too close, wanting too much from me, and I feel like I'm drying up. I don't have anything more to give. There's no room for anything because I'm filled to the brim with this ridiculous emotion for Butters that's at once violent and tender and I don't _want _it. I don't want _any _of it.

With horror, I realize the tail end of my thoughts came out loud: I dont want any of it.

"I..don't, uh... don't want dinner because I had a really big lunch," I say. It's a lie, but Porschea is Porschea and she can't seem to tell the difference.

The scary look of anger and misery vanishes from her face, replaced again by a vacant contentment. "Oooh, that's too bad, Sweetie. I really wanted to spend more time with you tonight. A girl is just getting started after her first orgasm, you know."

She giggles in an airy, absentminded way, and I'm momentarily paralyzed by her frankness. I don't think I'll ever get used to her lack of brain-to-mouth filter.

Tempting as her offer is, I'm done hurting people. At least for today. Then again, I also don't want to give Porschea false hope by saying something like "Maybe next time." I don't know _what _to say. Resisting girls is the opposite of what I've done since puberty struck. So I just mutter something incoherent and leave as fast as my legs will carry me without completely running away from her.

Before I leave, I take my check from the top left side drawer of the desk in the back office, and shout to Porschea that I've gotten it as I sail past the reception area and back into the chill mist. I tuck the envelope into my jeans pocket and start for the bank, wondering what else could go wrong today. If this nagging guilt is any indication, my fun times with Porschea are now over. That makes the check my favorite and only reason to come to work. It'd better not fail me now. But the transaction is smooth, and a small piece of myself begins to relax.

Marlboro's are on sale this week, so I buy two packs at the Gas n' Go stationed cattycorner to my apartment complex and add a package of mini powdered donuts wrapped in cellophane for Butters. The stars may be stacked against me, but haven't they always been? I have to make do with what I've been given; poverty and shit luck, and make the best of it. I'm hoping a little attention and some kind gestures will win me favor in Butters' eyes again. If he's as much of a girl as he seems, it would be unwise to show up empty-handed.

The door to the apartment is unlocked when I enter, which annoys me slightly. This is the last place in South Park that should be left to chance with that sort of thing. I need to remember to keep my head, though, be kind to Butters and gently remind him he could be ass-raped by a gang of thugs and kidnapped if he doesn't start taking precautions.

"Butters?" I set the Marlboro's and donuts on the bar counter and lock the door's three deadbolts.

Butter's appears in the hallway, looking small and tired. I smile weakly, but he doesn't return the gesture.

"Where the _hell _have you been?"

I start at the sharpness of his tone. "What-?"

He lurches forward and gives me a pathetic shove that accomplishes nothing but my growing bemusement.

"You no good, stinkin' ass!"

I stare down at him, unflinching as he pummels me in the stomach, my thick hooded jacket absorbing the shock of his weak blows. "And what the hell, may I ask, did I do this time?"

"No key! You cut school and didn't even bother to give me the key! I waited outside for two hours before some big guy with gold teeth was nice enough to picked the lock for me!"

My stomach feels like it drops out of my body. A key, goddamnit. Of _course _Butters would need a key. I knew that he would be ticked off that I cut school, and I knew he would be coming home to me. Why didn't I realize he'd have no way inside? That he didn't have a cell phone to call and that he wouldn't walk all over town trying to find me when he had no idea where I had gone?

Butters swings at me again, and I easily catch his hands. Tough as it is to do today, I manage to turn on what I guess is considered by others to be my charm. I send a pleasant smile his way while my hands remain holding him by his wrists.

"We should get you your own key. I'm sorry. I just wasn't thinking."

Butters just stares at me, his face twisted with anger, then throws off my arms and moves away into the living room. I sigh and pull my keys from my pocket, setting them next to the cigarettes and donuts.

Shower. I just want a shower, dinner, and bed. Preferably with a cigarette in between each.

I opt for the shower first. As I wash the scent of Porschea off of me, I wonder why they don't make a water-proof cigarette so I can smoke while I bathe. God this sucks. Butters is pissed off at me. Wendy is. Porschea is getting all 'girlfriend' on me. Fuck! My check is the best thing to happen to me this week, and this shit is so stressful I can't even enjoy my fucking shower. I'll eat as quickly as I can, go to bed, and get this day over with. Maybe tomorrow won't suck as hard.

As I enter the living room with wet but combed hair, I notice a pile of white envelopes concealing the top of the dining room table. My check stub is there. So is some junk mail. I know it's only still there because Butters doesn't have the heart to throw it out right away. Says the post man works hard to send us that stuff, so we should at least read the offers first.

Butters is watching some adult cartoon; it features children, but it's still for adults, which feels a little ironic to me. I wonder if he even understands half the jokes on it. He's not laughing, in any event, but it could just be his mood still hasn't blown over.

"Hey, do you want some toast?" I ask over my shoulder as I pull out bread and margarine. "I can put cinnamon on it."

"No I _don't _want any toast! I don't want _anything_!" he calls back to me. His voice is still laced with poison. I was afraid of that. Not even me cooking in my boxers seems to be taking the sour look off his face. I guess I'd be pissed, too, if I spent hours locked out. Hopefully he'll get over it. Maybe I can break him down. Make with some small talk between bites of carb-licious margarine sandwiches.

"Any good junk mail?"

"Read it your darn self why don't you?"

I make him toast anyway, hoping my hospitality is appreciated even if he's not willing to show it. I set it without a word on the coffee table in front of him with a fresh mug of hot cocoa. I only wish I had whipped cream and nutmeg to top if off. I know he likes it best that way.

I clear a small square on the dining table and take my own plate and cup there. Five minutes into the junk mail-in which the most interesting thing I find is a coupon for McDonald's-I find a bill from the electric company. $32, which isn't too bad in the grand scheme of things. But then I realize the balance due date was a month ago. My ears suddenly thunder with a rush of panicked blood as I search the pile frantically for another electric bill, which _must be _here.

"Shit!" I knock my cocoa over in my haste, the liquid flowering over part of the table .

They're going to give me hell for this. I know it. Late fees. That will cause my bank account to be lower than I expected, which will cause minimum balance penalties. All that bullshit they find reasons to charge you extra for, they'll charge me now. Great. Just fucking great.

I dig around the pile, unconcerned with the cocoa spill for now. If the electric bill was late, what about the other bills? Some of the mail I don't even have to open to know I'm in deep crap. One by one the messages on the outside of the envelopes cause my heart to skip some beats. Third Notice. Final Notice. Debt Collection Agency. Motherfucker!

I do math in my head as I grasp my newest check deposit receipt. I hesitantly look at the number. I hope it's bigger than these bills totaled up.

It isn't.

And what's worse, even if I hadn't racked up late fees, my check wouldn't have covered these. More than half my net pay goes to the rent which, luckily, I have not been late on. How can I when the landlandy comes knocking every third sunday of the month, bright and early.

...I'm going to have to move back in with my parents, I think, panic welling up in my chest like a swollen water balloon.

Back to nothing but waffles every other day and sneaking second helpings of school lunch into my bookbag to have something to eat for breakfast the next day. Suddenly the $8.95 I spent on cigarettes and donuts seems like a hell of a lot more money.

I can't even fake a smile now. Butters notices. I see his eyes soften, but he's still upset. I know that because he knows something's wrong but he's not asking me what, and that's definitely not Butters-like. I'm not going to bitch about it either. I just offered the guy a key. I can't turn around and tell him it'll only be good until the end of the month.

Maybe there's a solution that I just can't see right now. My first desperate thought is that Butters could get a job to help with the bills, but some primal part of me writhes unpleasantly at the thought of that. I like him at home. I like being the bread-winner.

I set each bill and follow-up notices into two piles and create a third for weeding out junk. Vaguely I wonder when I started playing house with Butters, seeing him through the role of husband and him as the happy house wife. But he does know how to work Pine Sol in a way I never have, I have to admit.

I shake my head. No. Even if Butters got a job, it wouldn't be enough to cover our bills. And besides, I would want him to use the money to save for college. He's so bright when it comes to his studies. I can't see him putting all his effort into keeping the water running in this dump.

There's a knock at the door. Are the repo men here already? It isn't Sunday, so I know it's not the land lady. Butters and I both move to answer the door. We race at a snail's pace, neither of us in a particular hurry to answer it given our moods. I look through the peep hole. It's Wendy. Butters' hand withdraws from the doorknob, but I decide to let her in. Maybe we can clear up this "boyfriend stealer" business and get Butters back on my side. At the very least maybe I can get Wendy to stop being mad at me if I finally give her the time of day. I do feel bad for blowing her off.

I open the door and realize it must be raining. Her hair and eyelashes are sparkling with droplets. "Wendy," I say, and glance toward the window as I step aside to let her in. Yep, more rain. It's suits my day, really. Bring it on.

Butters crosses his arms over his chest and pouts. He doesn't want to see her. I realize this might make him even madder at me. Too late now though. Wendy hasalready gotten her foot in the door.

"You want a drink?" I offer.

"No." She says. She takes a seat on the couch, not caring if she was invited to do so or not. She's probably tired, and besides, she finally has me in my apartment. Nowhere for me to run now. Fortunately, I don't want to run anymore. I take a seat by her, but keep enough space between us so that Butters hopefully won't get jealous.

He curls like a defensive cat in the armchair in the corner of the room, the lamplight casting dark shadows over his eyes and giving the illusion they had been hollowed out. He turns his face toward the TV, but I know that's not what he's listening to.

I'm craving nicotine by a fiercer degree every passing moment, but I still manage a passable smile and say, "What do you want to tell me, Wendy?"

She raises her eyes to me and stares, then presses a trembling hand to her mouth and squeezes them shut. "I don't know how to say this. I want to start by asking that you please keep a level head. Just listen to everything I say before passing any judgment."

I raise my eyebrows. This sounds pretty serious. "Um, okay." I turn slightly to better face her and brace myself for the worst.

Wendy sighs. "God, this has been eating away at me for weeks and weeks." Her voice trembles slightly. Her eyes water, mixing with the rain drops, but she presses on. "I can't take the guilt anymore, Kenny. You need to know. You deserve to."

"Know what?"

"I had an abortion."

My heart stops again and this time it takes much longer to recover from the initial shock. The tension in the air grows thicker, which I didn't think was possible less than a minute ago. Butters and I sit in stunned silence while Wendy lets her guilty, sad words sink in. She finally got it out, but it doesn't appear to be making her feel any better. I open my mouth to speak, but Wendy raises a hand to silence me. I did promise to let her finish.

"It was yours. I got pregnant and I had an abortion before it was too late. Before it could feel it."

"Wait, wait, wait!" I protest.

"Please let me finish. This is so hard to-"

"I thought you were pro-life!"

"I'm pro-life _morally_. I'm pro-choice _legally_. I'm all for women's rights but I never thought I personally would ever decide to..." She sighs and buries her face in her hands. She's breaking down again. She forces back a sob, her shoulders shaking, and looks back to me again. "Pro-choice means the freedom to make a choice. I made mine, and for what it's worth, I regret it."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I couldn't!" Her voice spikes, matching mine in volume. "I was scared and I didn't even know if you'd believe me that it was yours. Everyone always thinks I'm cheating on them with Stan, which I totally don't get anyway because it's so obvious he's hot for Kyle, and we're only sixteen, Kenny, I can't have a baby now! Not by myself; there's college to think about!" She says all of this very fast, all in one breath.

I point forcibly at my chest. "I could have helped you."

"You were too poor!" The apologetic expression washing over her hostility at least assures me she regrets having to say that. "What was I going to do, Kenny, ask you to drop out of school and take care of a kid you don't want and probably wouldn't have even believed was yours?"

"I would have believed you, Wendy. Up until right now, I thought you were one of the most honest people in the world. I also would have gotten a job, somewhere to live. I'm doing it now, for fuck's sake!"

"But I didn't know at the time what you were capable of." She shakes her head. "No. That isn't true. I always knew your potential, I still do. I just didn't know if you would actually use it, and I didn't want to ask you any favors."

"So you decided not to ask my opinion either? You decided to not even alert me to the fact that we had _both _gotten in over our heads?"

She hesitates a moment, biting her lip, tear tracks etched all down her cheeks. "I didn't think you'd care—"

"That you decided to murder my child," I finish for her, and I can hear the danger and hatred laced within my own voice, the venom drenching every word.

"I'm sorry." she says weakly. A few more sobs leave her. "Kenny we weren't even really together. Not properly. I thought you'd want to be free to keep screwing around with whoever. Not tied down by a kid. What kind of life would it have had then? What if I went away to school and you stayed here? It was just too much. It would've been too much for you too and you know it."

"_I don't care_! You didn't even tell me! It's not just _your _choice, you know! Maybe I would've wanted to free _you _from the burden! I've lived poor my whole life and we always found a way to eat. I could've made it work. I could go hungry so it could eat. I could've helped you. I could've done something if you hadn't kept me in the damn dark until it was too late! _Get out_!"

Wendy sniffles. "Kenny I know you're upset but-"

"Get out NOW!"

"He wasn't even a baby yet!" She shoots up from the couch. "Not really. It was too early to really be considered murder."

"He?" I repeat, incredulous. "He? How the _hell _did you know it was a boy if it wasn't a baby yet?"

"I don't know that he was a boy," She says, softer, hanging her head. "It was just a feeling I got."

"My son." I mouth the words, a surreal disorientation buzzing through my head. Without even feeling myself move, I cross the room and open the door. "Get the fuck out."

Without a word, Wendy marches to the threshold, her head held just a notch or so too high. She stops. "Kenny—"

"OUT!"

She clamps her jaw tight, fresh tears laminating her eyes, and hurries away.

I slam the door behind her. Not just once, but twice, three times, before finally pressing my face to my fists against the door. I take in a few deep breaths and slide to the carpet, feeling the emotion well inside me and the scuttle up my throat. My eyes sting, dry at first, then steadily begin to overflow and I succumb to a sudden burst of sobs.

I can't take it anymore! I don't cry often, but when I do I'm like a ruptured pipe. This is one of those times. I wonder if the baby would've been a boy. I wonder if it would've sounded like I do now when it cried. Maybe like Wendy when she did. Maybe both. I'll never know now. It's gone, and so is Wendy. Soon I won't even have a place to live anymore. It's all over. Everything's gone.

"I'm sorry Kenny."

I look up. Through water-blurred eyes I see Butters standing over me, looking just as sad as I must. I don't want to get up, I don't want to move; the shock and pain of it paralyzing me. I guess Butters senses this because he joins me on the floor. I don't know if he apologized for my loss or for his behavior, but God I'll take whatever I can get right now. He slides his arms around my shoulder's and pulls me into him. I bury my face into his chest. He hugs me. It's warm and tight and loving. He's back to his usual self, and for some reason it makes me sob harder.

In my ear, I hear Butter's sniffle, then feel a parade of tears speckle against my shoulder, slow and gentle.

* * *

**Important!: **Want to help assure the next chapter is posted,guaranteed, in 30 days? 2 weeks? To the point, my cat needs dental surgery or else the problem will spread and it will get very serious. I love my cat to the bottom of my soul and I'm poor like Kenny. I'm asking for donations, and as a thank you, if I reach half my goal of $400, I will get the next chapter posted in 30 days from the date I reach that amount. I will post the next chapter in 2 weeks from the date I reach the FULL amount of $800.

DOES THIS MEAN I WILL NOT CONTINUE THE STORY IF YOU DONT PAY ME? **NO!**

I am not asking for payment; I am asking for help. I WILL continue to write this even if I dont receive a cent. However, I would like to thank everyone for their generosity, and the best way I know of to do that is to make this my priority and give you a quick, FULL LENGTH update to say thank you.

If you would like to help, please click the link in my profile. Whether or not you donate, I'd still love REVIEWS!

-BC3


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